Mortality
by Lemurian-Girl
Summary: What is the path from young, innocent boy to insanity and evil? In a time marred by conflict between humans and dragons, Nergal must find himself. Haunted by the strains of mortality, Nergal must grow.
1. Visitors

_Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone._

_-William Shakespeare _

**Chapter One: Visitors**

Perched atop the stool, little feet standing on the tips of their toes, a young girl peered over, scrutinizing every binding on the shelf. Rows upon rows of books stretched out in front of her, and yet, she took her time in examining each one, occasionally picking one out to peruse it before deftly slipping it back in its place. Small "hmm"-ing sounds escaped her mouth as her forehead creased in concentration.

Nergal glanced up from his compendium every few seconds, a twinge of amusement apparent on his face. The girl looked like him: the same dark eyes, the same pointed nose, the same tanned skin tone. The only feature setting them apart was her hair- springy light brown waves falling down her back. Luminous, they gave her an extra dose of innocence, not like the deep purple tones of his own hair.

"Stella," he finally spoke, "if you don't choose a book soon, you'll go home with nothing accomplished."

Stella turned to shoot him a dirty look. "So?"

Nergal turned back to his page. "So, I don't want you whining the whole way back that you didn't get to do anything." A brief flash of indignation sparked in her eyes, and she swiveled back to the books. Choosing the heaviest volume at eyelevel, she hauled back her chosen tome and dropped it on the table.

The legs shuddered under the sudden weight. With a determined look in her eye, Stella pulled up a chair and flipped open the cover. At nine, she was a precocious girl, a mischievous girl, and a real bratty one too but not a particularly tall one. Her distinct attributes were all squeezed into her petite figure, and at any moment, they threatened to burst free of their bony barriers in a massive display of fireworks.

Nergal could not help but laugh at her choice of books. "Are you sure you can read that?" Stella scowled.

"Yeah. Easy."

He leaned over to look at the chapter she was reading. "Can you tell me what pulmonic means?" She stared at the word, fit into a sentence strung with other complicated words, but being the proud child she was, she pretended otherwise.

"Pfft, that's one itsy-bitsy word. So what?"

"Are you certain you don't want to find an easier book?" he chuckled.

"I'm quite fine, thank you very much."

Nergal leaned back, his lips twitching upwards. His sister was an obstinate child. Though he could recall back those six years when he was her age, he wondered if he had been anything like her to the casual observer. Intelligent, yes, but since he lacked an older sibling to feed him books, did he have the same hunger for them that Stella did? Daring, perhaps, but he didn't have that girl, Aly, at the farm supplying him with fresh ideas. He never thought of himself as spoiled as she, though he was guilty for most of that.

He continued with his volume, which described the growth patterns of certain species of exotic plants in a brief but inclusive passage. Every so often, he peeked over at Stella to see if she was really reading. Each time she appeared to be intently staring at her page, flipping it once every ten minutes as though to prove her worth. Still, by the way her forehead bunched and fingers drummed, Nergal knew she had not comprehended a word of it.

After a considerable time passed, Nergal looked up at the clock, hanging crooked off the wall. He swore.

"Come on, Stella," he said, gathering up the books in his hands. "We have to go. Mother will make a fuss if we're any later." Stella slid off her chair.

"Alright." She tried to sound disappointed.

Nergal placed the books back in their respective shelves and hurried out the door of the town library; Stella lagged behind. Outside, the afternoon sun greeted them lazily. The cool air nipped at their cheeks; Nergal wrapped his scarf snug around him, checking back to see if Stella was appropriately garbed. Her scarf dragging out of her pocket, Stella kicked stones across the cobble street and waved to her friends. Insistent on making it back before their mother erupted, Nergal scuttled ahead.

A friend, Missus Smithson, stopped them before Nergal rushed by. "Why hello there, boy!" she exclaimed. "You look in a hurry."

"My mother hates for us to be home past four. It gets dangerous on the road."

Stella caught up and grinned brightly at Missus Smithson. "Hello!"

"Hi sweetie." To Nergal, she waved the thought aside and assured him "she won't mind. I was just there; she has some men over. Friends of your father, bless his soul in Elysium. I think they're just tying up some loose ends."

Nergal nodded. "Thank you but still, I should be going." He was moving before Missus Smithson bid him farewell

"Oh alright," she sighed, "don't sprain anything, now." She patted Stella on the head. "Goodbye now, Stella. Take care of that boy of yours."

Stella began to amble backwards, waving at Missus Smithson. "Bye!" She turned and sprinted to catch up with her distant sibling. "Don't go so fast. You heard her; Mother has some boring old men over."

"They were friends of our father; they're not boring old men."

"Uh-huh."

Nergal stared down at Stella, almost with sympathy. Just a year before, their father passed. Though they owned and maintained a few fields, their father primarily took care of a merchant business, handling the crops of several of the country farms. The Hudson and Waverly Steads had relied on him for transporting their goods to other towns, and now, afterwards, the two families took in the widow and her two children.

Nergal ruffled her hair. As an instant reaction, Stella batted his fingers away.

"What was that for?" she asked.

Nergal shook his head. "Nothing."

Their cottage waited on the outskirts of town. They wandered out onto the main road, pausing for only a second so that Stella could stoop and examine a patch of multi-colored wildflowers. Nergal tried to urge her faster; he wanted to meet these friends of his father. At the moment, he was the man of the family and the brightest member too, though he was not impertinent enough to brag of it to his mother. He had heard stories of men who took advantage of lonely widows, and he did not want the same fate to befall her.

His thoughts turned to his scholarship and departure in the coming year. He wondered if Stella and his mother would survive his leave; they would be without the protection of any men, and although he was sure the townsfolk would watch over them, he worried that, with their home situated so far away, it would be difficult when vagabonds wandered into the area.

When their cottage came into view, Nergal heaved a sigh of relief. Stella merely panted.

"You walk too fast," she pouted, leaning against the garden fence to catch her breath. Nergal pushed the splintering gate open and briskly walked up the stone path between the beans and the squash. From the porch, he could hear voices inside: two men, by the sound of it, and the warbling tone of his mother. He opened the door.

His mother stood upon his entry. "Ah, there you are. I was beginning to worry that wolves had eaten you. I might live cheaper by it, but I won't mistake it for good fortune." His mother knew perfectly well that there were no wolves in this region.

The fading daylight squeezed out of the cottage as Nergal shut the door behind him and Stella.

"I'm sorry, mother. Missus Smithson had pulled us aside, and I didn't want to be rude." Nergal inclined his head humbly. Stella made a distinct "pfft"ing sound but did not utter a word.

"Mister Kristoph, Oaks, these are my children." Nergal's mother gestured towards the two. Both men nodded their heads, acknowledging their presence. After a terse moment, she hissed, "Don't be rude! Introduce yourselves."

Nergal stepped forward. "My name is Nergal, and it is a pleasure to meet both of you. Goodwife Smithson said that you were friends of my father; that alone proves you are of decent character." One of the men, a stocky red-head with freckles striping his face smiled at the statement.

"We were…acquaintances. I always admired Benson for his business tact, and I can see that potential in you. I'm Cadfael Kristoph; I manage the bank over in Pensborough. This here is my colleague, Radek Oaks." Radek stood shorter, plumper, with a ring of silver hair crowning his head. "You look to be a bright boy; perhaps, you will carry on your father's business."

His mother shook her head. "My boy isn't going into business. Professor Afa offered to take him on as a pupil. He's leaving in a year." She arched her back and puffed out her chest, as though her son's accomplishment's proved her own.

"Well, congratulations Nergal. You're on your way to be a scientist or writer." A teasing glint took place in Cadfael's eyes. "Hear the Church hates those."

Nergal saw his mother stiffen and her narrow; her previous proud stance fell away. "Why would he be hated? He's a God-fearing lad; he knows better than to meddle in that murk of heresy and witchcraft."

"Duly-noted. It was a joke, madam; I didn't mean to offend." Cadfael cleared his throat and looked around to escape the sharp glare of the woman. He spotted Stella. "And who are you?" he asked, grinning down at her. Nergal recognized the comely childish mischief in her eyes, a daunting flame that ignited in Stella. She bent her knees in a small curtsy, never breaking eye contact with the men, a move her mother would have called insolent.

"My name is Limstella, but you may call me Stella." Cadfael laughed, quite taken with her charm, but Radek's face hardened, if anything. Nergal guessed that he did not like children.

"Well, then you two run off now. We have some business to-" Nergal's mother began, but Nergal cut her off.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I'd like to stay and speak with these men." His mother's temper shook her body. He continued before she could argue back, "I'm old enough to be involved with these affairs, and with Father dead, I have the responsibility to."

His mother's fist curled in an attempt to keep from slapping him. Tugging his collar, she pulled him aside and hissed in his face, "Don't embarrass me, boy, in front of company. Such important company too. Now, go up to the garret and stay there until I call you down again. If you don't listen, then you'll be up there until supper tomorrow." She released him. "Sirs, if you will relax; my _children_ are leaving."

Stella clambered up the ladder to the garret, which they shared as a cluttered bedroom. Clinging onto the bottom rungs, Nergal glanced behind at the two visitors- Cadfael with a grave look replacing the merry countenance he carried before and Radek with his unchanging demeanor. A scalding glare from his mother sent him scrambling up to the garret. He shut the hatch, muffling the voices below.

Light still sifted in through the window, but Stella retrieved one of the candles and lit it anyways. Half of the loft was reserved for their living space; two pallets, a dresser, and a desk with a chair filled up this space. The other half held spiced and dried foods for the winter, a collection of old transaction records that belonged to their father, and a few semi-precious heirlooms that could not be stuffed in the room below.

Stella curled up on her pallet, leaning her back against the sloped ceiling. She watched Nergal: how his teeth clenched, how his face scrunched, how his fists pounded erratically on the bed, how his cheeks flashed red. When he lay down next to the hatch, with his ear pressed to the ground, Stella asked what he was doing, though she thought she had an idea.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Stella, and Mother refuses to acknowledge that. You see those fools-" by fools, he meant the twins that worked on the Waverly Farm-" who are a year younger than me and treated with more respect by their drunken father than I am by my widowed mother. I'm the head of the household now, but she still won't let me help her. For a woman so dependent on her late husband, she seems awfully self-reliant." He looked up at Stella. A strange confusion welled up in her eyes.

"What do you mean?"she asked.

"Nothing, Stella. Don't worry about it."

"You shouldn't be eavesdropping."

"Shh." He held up a hand to silence her. A few strains of their conversation wafted up through the floor, and Nergal could make out a few stifled words.

"…we've extracted from the accounts already standing…"

"…until the harvest…little interest…"

"…that much?"

"We're afraid so. But we realize your situation and are willing to…"

"…you're coddling…"

After several minutes, Stella whispered, "whatdya hear?"

"Not much," said Nergal, pushing up from the ground. "Never mind; this isn't going to work." He returned to his bed, shoving a hand into his mop of hair. Swinging his legs over onto the thin mattress, he shut his eyes.

He thought only a second had passed, but when Nergal opened his eyes, he discovered that night had fallen. Stella, balled under her blanket, was oblivious to his waking. Rubbing his eyes, he realized his clothes were still on, right down to his shoes. He kicked them off, too groggy to care at the moment. He shrugged off his shirt and tried his best to ignore the rumbling of his stomach.

How unsurprising: his mother had forgotten to wake them for dinner. He contemplated going down to get a biscuit to sate his ravenousness, but the room was pitch dark. The candle had been snuffed, and without daylight flooding in through the window, he would have to grope his way down. No, that would be too noisy and would wake his mother.

Nergal wiggled under the covers. He closed his eyes, determined to fall back asleep. However, his stomach protested too loudly to make that possible. He twisted in his bed, only to have a sharp pain rip through his side. When had he eaten last that day? The only thing he remembered consuming was a tart he split with Stella that morning; Baker Hills offered it to them in gratitude for the patching work their mother did for him.

Now, he was more awake than ever. Could he possibly sneak down with raising a ruckus? Perhaps. He had done it before, though he almost broke his neck in the process. He crawled out of bed towards the hatch and opened it slowly so that it didn't creak. One leg lowered itself, searching for the rungs down. His sole pressed against the bar. The other foot moved down after it.

With a sigh of relief, he reached the ground with making hardly a sound. The front windows that peeked into the kitchen let in a little light, silhouetting the entire room with shadows. He could see the door to the right leading to his mother's room, the square table with the broken leg, the iron stove, and the pantry. He inched open the pantry door.

A tremor rattled the earth. A screeching roar ripped through the air. His ears strained against the high pitch and low growls of the cacophony . Nergal dropped to the ground. He waited for the quaking to cease. Immediately, the door to his mother's room flew open, banging against the wall. The earth stilled. Nergal clutched to the surface of the table and peeked over.

Candle in hand, she saw the orange glints off her son's eyes peering over the table. She walked over to him and pulled him up, slapping him across the face. Nergal's hand went up to hold his stinging cheek.

"What are you doing down here?"

"I was hung-"

"What did you do, you insolent boy! You-" Another roar, this time louder, clearer. Whatever made the noise ventured closer. The woman's lip stuck out, quivering. "Do you think it could be-" she said, her voice naught but a whisper. She shook her head waving the thought away.

"What? What could it be?" Nergal pressed. In the flame's light, he saw his mother's face pale. This countenance that twisted itself on her face- the eyes widened, the cheeks sunken, the mouth trembling- was one she reserved for religious superstitions and damnations.

Her response came in a raspy whisper. "Dragons."

----

Author's Note: I was going to wait until after I finished The Deal to post this, but after two rewrites of the last chapter, I've decided to mull over that story a bit longer. There's plenty on Nergal in this fandom, but few things on his past. We know he was once a good man and most likely a family man, but few give him credit for that. This will be a chronicle of his life, to beyond even when he is driven mad. Beware the character deaths.

Yes, her name is Limstella. Get over it; it won't be the last of it. She'll be a brat, but if I can pull this off right, you'll love her anyways. Yes, she does have a real purpose in this story; I didn't throw her in there to be cute.

To clear some things up, this chapter takes place several years before the Scouring. This will become apparent in the next few chapters, but I am simply stating it to sate curious minds. So yes, Dragons and Humans still live together, though not quite in harmony. This story will also be assuming that certain theories about Nergal are true; if you do not know about these theories (of which I believe are true but I have seen debates), then you will find out, but not for a while. Also, I realized Nergal's physical description does not exactly fit the one in the game; once again, there is a reason for this, which will surface later.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, as always. Constructive criticism is loved.

Thanks to JSB for betaing.


	2. Talk

_Basic research is what I am doing when I don't know what I am doing._

_-Wernher von Braum_

**Chapter Two: Talk**

Nergal honestly wished that someone could fix that dang window up in the garret. Stuck just an inch open, it let in all sorts of pesky bugs and just enough of a breeze to cause the pages of his book to fan out, losing his place. Now, a drizzle of rain pattered against the pane, and a few rogue droplets whipped in and struck his face.

The hatch opened, and Stella clambered in. "What are you doing?"

"Studying. Go away."

"You've been studying all day." Stella's voice rose to a whine. "I'm bored. Come down and do something."

Nergal shifted his position, turning on his side away from Stella. "No. Go down and visit Aly or something." He heard her stomp her foot in protest.

"Mother won't let me. Not unless you come." Nergal saw where this was going. "I had to do of all my chores while you were up here 'studying', and now, I have to just sit around and do nothing! That's not fair."

Nergal rolled his eyes. He did not want the coming screaming match, but his mother actually commissioned this report. The book, titled _Dragon Kin_, would hopefully reveal to him how to dragon-proof their home, and however silly that seemed, his mother was insistent on it being done, and done right.

He rolled back to face Stella. "Ten more minutes. Then I'll take you down to the Hudson's." Stella opened her mouth. "No fuss or else I won't do it. I'm doing very important stuff here." She immediately closed it and with a huff, clambered down the ladder.

For hours, Nergal had simply flipped through the pages, skimming the titles of each chapter. _Anatomy, Habits, Mythology_: none of which told him what he wanted to know. He finally just chose _The Human Relationship_ and started reading.

_Dragons and humans live mostly segregated. The only regions where Dragon and Human interaction could be considered common are the Desert Peninsula and the Illian Mountains; this has been noted as a matter of necessity. In these desolate areas of Elibe, the human and dragon clans have mostly disintegrated, and in many towns, whether the majority is fleshed or scaled, there are at least a few families of the other kind._

_In most of Elibe, tensions between the two are tense. For example, in the heart of Elibe, humans blame the dragons for burning their fields, causing them to become fallow and barren. In the Wyvern Crags, dragons accuse humans of deforesting their homes and wrongfully domesticating their livestock. Such hostilities have raged on for centuries, and thus these areas are the source of the most physical conflict between the two. _

Nergal heard Stella's voice screaming at him from below. His eyes scanned over the rest of the chapter, but it provided none of the information that he wanted and needed. Stella's calls grew more insistent, higher in volume and scratchier in tone. He slammed the book shut, tightened the laces on his boots, and swung down the ladder.

"Don't be so reckless," his mother hissed at him as she turned the ladle in the cooking stew. Stella bounced out the door, but Nergal's mother hooked her finger over his collar and yanked him back. "You watch out for those dragons. They must still be in the area. Never let her out of your sight." Nergal nodded. "By God, Nergal, swear it." He swore it, and she released him.

Stella waited outside, tapping her foot against the stoned walkway. Neither Nergal nor his mother told her about the event last night for she had apparently slept through it and they thought it best for her not to know. Stella did not even ask what kept him; she latched herself onto his arm and led him down the path and onto the dusty road.

The Hudson Farm was but a small distance east of their home. They were situated in the flatlands to the north of the Wyvern crags, near the Furtham Delta that split this land from the barbarians to the north. Dragons usually avoided this area, preferring the lofty mountains with their unintelligent brothers, the wyverns. And unlike the farmlands that surrounded the port Ostia to the west, no scourge had wasted their resources.

A little haven in this world, Nergal thought. Anybody living anywhere else to him was crazy. A human in the Wyvern Crags invited death into his hearth; the Illian Mountains could produce nothing; same with the Desert Peninsula; the City States were dying out; the barbaric tribes of the plains hunted any outsiders, human or dragon; and the Far West seemed too foreign.

However, the haven had been penetrated. Nergal constantly looked around, over his shoulder, towards the skies, for any sight of dragons. Stella laughed at his antics.

"Wyverns don't stray this far," she reminded him, skipping backwards to face him.

"I'm not worried about Wyverns," he said.

"What then? Flying thieves?" She giggled at the notion. Her arms stretched out to imitate the wings of birds gliding on the breeze.

"Nothing. I'm worried about nothing." He said this as he glanced upwards again. "The sky is just awfully pretty today." The sky was mottled with gray and black clouds, not a pretty sight at all. Stella paused and shielded her eyes with her palm so that she could scope out the sky. At first she shook her head, then her mouth fell open and she pointed to the distance.

"What's that?"

Nergal's head snapped around to look. Nothing disturbed the clouded canvas, nothing he could see at least. His head swiveled on his neck looking all directions. Stella collapsed on the ground, laughing loudly. Grabbing her collar, Nergal forced her on.

"Come on, I see the farm in the distance- stop laughing!" His brow creased to match his frown. "It wasn't that funny."

"Yes- hee- it was- heh."

"No, it wasn't."

They reached the wooden fence that marked off the Hudson property. Nergal scrambled over it while Stella crawled on her hands and feet under the low-lying wooden bar. A forest of wheat sprouted up in front of them. Stella dove in first; Nergal chased after her.

The yellow stalks scraped against their faces, growing denser as they pushed through. They knew these fields well, and they could easily tell which direction to head towards. They popped out onto a muddy road that winded up to the mill. At this time of day, Aly would probably be found there.

They saw her hunched over a filled burlap bag. A new drizzle had begun, wetting her face with its tiny droplets and plastering the loose strands of her copper-colored hair to her forehead. She wore a plain brown frock that was frayed at the hems.

"Stella, look at you!" Aly abandoned her task as soon as she saw them. "You're all a fluster." Stella ran into her arms, flinging her own around Aly's robust build.

"Nergal's afraid of flying thieves," she said into Aly's stomach. Aly looked up at Nergal with an arched eyebrow.

"Flying thieves, huh? Well, if I had a sister as pretty as you, then I'd afraid that they'd come down and steal you too." Stella giggled and let go of Aly. "Stella, honey, run up to the house. My ma has something for your ma."

"Come with me." She tugged at Aly's sleeve.

"I have to finish up my chores here; I'll catch up in a second. Go along." Aly gestured her forward. Stella waited for a moment, crossed her arms, then, after realizing neither Nergal nor Aly would come with her, dashed down the path, disappearing around a bend of stalks.

"So you heard them too," said Aly, softly, after Stella left. "We've never known Wyverns to travel this far." She gulped and rubbed her arms.

"You think they're wyverns and not dragons?"

"Pa said something about their call is different, and that's how you can tell the difference. He's met Dragons before, and he's says they're too civilized to scream in the night like that." She shivered. Nergal stepped forward to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Unless, of course, you believe what's coming out of the western lands."

Conflicts between the two races frequented the news now more than ever, all the more frightening as they both knew that the "news" arrived in the flatlands a month or two after it first occurred. Humans scorched to death; dragons with swords plunged through their fiery hearts. Whole towns incinerated; dragon families captured one by one and tortured until they withered away.

"The world is a bleak place," said Nergal. "Only God can save us." He then added, "Besides, there's nothing here Dragons want. Not even many of our kind would chose to live here. We're safe for now."

"You're not," Aly pointed out. "You're leaving in a year to travel all the way to the Desert Peninsula. That's farther west than the Far West."

Remembering his reading, Nergal assured her by saying, "the conflicts aren't so bad there. I hear some even live in harmony. It's the city states I'll want to avoid; it's the places where they have little better to do than fight."

Aly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember her geography the best she could. "But…but don't you have to pass through the city states before you reach the Desert?" Nergal's heart stopped. She was right. He had never thought of that. "What if you get killed on the way over!"

Nergal wove his arms around Aly, who was near tears. "I won't get killed. Those reports are exaggerated, Aly. Don't listen to them; I'll be fine." Those words also comforted him to an extent, but the worry now gnawed at him. Would he survive?

That thought still haunted him later that day. When the first fingers of dusk brushed the sky, Nergal pulled Stella home. Their mother scolded them for being late. She sent Stella out for a pail of water so her two children could wash up, then whispered to Nergal.

"Did you see any of them?"

Nergal shook his head. "Aly says they're wyverns, not dragons." His mother gasped. One hand flew to her mouth while the other smacked across her forehead.

"Wyverns! Those cursed beasts. At least dragons have shreds of intelligence; wyverns are nothing more than demons. Nothing can restrain them." The hands moved from her face to clap together in prayer. "Pray, boy, pray that we live out the fortnight!"

Stella reappeared in the door, lugging a pail. She poured the water into a basin by the stove, all the while oblivious to her mother fevered mutterings of salvation. Nergal watched her as she dipped her hands in and washed away the grime between her fingers. He knelt down next to her.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" she asked.

Nergal shook his head. "No, nothing at all. Times are just tough."

Stella dried her hands on her skirt. She did not face Nergal but rather stared at the calming ripples in the basin. "I don't believe you."

At that moment, a brisk knock sounded at the door. Nergal's mother scurried to open it, revealing a somber Cadfael.

He gave a slight incline of the head. "Hello madam. May I speak with you for a moment?" Nergal's mother stiffly nodded. "Outside, ma'am. I believe these matters are a bit private." Her eyes widened. With a glance thrown over her shoulder towards Nergal and Stella, she stepped outside and closed the door.

The door did not quite fit the frame though, and it remained opened a crack. Nergal sidled up to it, pressed his finger to his lips to silence Stella's giggles, and eavesdropped on the conversation.

"Radek is quite impatient," said Cadfael solemnly. "He feels that we have already given you too much time and that we are being too lenient. He is not sympathetic to your situation, I'm afraid. After we parted yesterday, he changed his mind." He paused and cleared his throat, but even then, he hesitated and fumbled for his words. "Two weeks. That's all we'll give you now."

"What!" His mother's shrill voice rang out so loudly that even Stella turned her head. "That's not nearly enough time."

"Listen, ma'am. Times haven't so been so easy on us either. As much as I would like to give you more time, I'm afraid Radek is right. We'll be back within the fortnight."

Nergal heard the scuffling of feet as Cadfael walked away, and he quickly moved from the door. His mother stormed in, eyes brimming with ire but face pale. Her lip trembled as she took a seat at the table.

"S-Stella, dear, fetch me a hot drink, and finish setting the table." Stella hurried to comply. Nergal stood behind her waiting for her to address him. He inched forward a little until he was bowing over her, one hand on her shoulder to comfort her, the other tightly wound in hers. "Nergal, my sweet boy-"

"Yes?"

"Go out to the garden. We need carrots for the stew."

Nergal pulled away with an irritated sigh. He rolled his sleeves as he stepped out into their garden and walked among the cabbages, the rosemary, the tomatoes, until he reached their carrots. Before he could crouch down to pull the roots out of the ground, a strange flapping noise met his ears. No, not quite flapping, more of _whlap, whlap. _No bird he knew of could make such a sound; these wings, if indeed the sound did source from wings, had to come from a broader span.

Nergal looked up to the sky. Twinkling stars and a half moon shone down on him, undisturbed save for the hazy clouds. Then, something black cut through the cloud cover. As it passed over the moon, blanking out its ethereal light, Nergal saw for certain that this was no bird.

Glints of silver caught its scaly wings and bone-tipped claws. Two glistening points served as eyes, menacing and cold. It swooped lower in the sky, and Nergal fell to his stomach, hidden among the plants. He looked up after a second. The creature had regained its former altitude and ignored him completely. It was so high in the sky that Nergal began to wonder if it could even see him down here.

He sat up on his knees, watching the creature as it flew off into the distance, until it disappeared completely, leaving Nergal left with only a mere memory of it. His entire body shook. Hastily, he pulled out a few carrots and retreated to the stoop, where he once again glanced up for the sight of it. Nothing. Still quailing, he entered his home.

The question lingered though: was that a dragon, or, worse yet, a wyvern?

----

Author's Note: Next chapter is going to be fun. A little name dropping and some fun interactions are in place. Until then, this too was interesting to write. Some unintentional foreshadowing, and I set up some of the geography. Since the countries weren't founded exactly until after the Scouring, I played around with it. Some of them are obvious; others aren't. I'll list them. If you look at a map of Elibe, you'll get a better idea.

Wyvern Crags: the mountains of Bern.

Illian Mountains: Ilia

Desert Peninsula: Nabata (well, it's a desert and it's a peninsula. Thought it was catchy.)

City States: Lycia

No-name land of the barbarians: Sacae

Far West: Etruria (it's like the Far East except West)

If you look at river between Sacae and Bern, that's around where Nergal lives.

I went though the script of FE6, and tried to find things on pre-Scouring life, and found just about nothing, so that's another aspect I'm going to have some fun with.

Extra thanks to JSB for betaing! Review!


	3. The Wyvern

_Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live. _

_-Dorothy Thompson_

**Chapter Three: The Wyvern**

A week later, Nergal's attention was yanked away from the tomato bushes by a looming shadow. Looking up, he was met with Aly's pleasant face. A basket hung off one of her arms, ribbons and yarn draped over the wickerwork. Brushing the soil off his knees, Nergal rose to greet her.

"Hello. What are you doing here?" he asked, though polite.

"I promised Stella I would help her with her costume for the festival," she said.

"Oh, the festival. When is it this year?"

"Lost in the clouds much, Nergal? It's in two days."

"What? How come Stella never reminded me? She blabbers on about the festival every year."

"You probably tuned her out like usual." Aly sighed. "Does this mean you don't have a costume?"

"I'll wear last year's costume."

Aly hooked her arm around Nergal's and led him out the garden. "That won't do. You've grown several inches since then." She sighed again, pushing her hair past her ear. "I'm almost finished with Stella's. I'll see what I can do for you. You'll have to come to town with me though; I don't have enough material for the both of you."

Stella and Nergal had always relied on the Hudsons for their festival attire; the traditional garb, though archaic, celebrated their heritage and the mythology that surrounded it.

Stella emerged from the back of the house, lugging a pail of water. When she saw Aly, her eyes lit up, and she nearly spilled the water. Leaving the pail by the garden gate, she ran up to Aly speaking in hasty slur.

"Do you have it? Do you have it?" she asked, peering into Aly's basket. Aly nodded.

"Finish your chores, Stella, and you can try it on. Then we'll take a little trip into town to see what we can do for your hopeless brother here." Stella picked up the pail and hurried into the house. Aly turned back to Nergal and looked him over. "Are you finished with _your_ chores?"

He shrugged. "More or less. Mother wanted me to work in the garden, and I can't imagine what else I could do in there." He looked over at the leafy tops of the vegetables. "I think the tomatoes are bad this year. Bugs, I believe."

"So what is your mask going to be for this year?" Aly asked. She pawed through her basket, checking her supplies. "I know last year you went as a Phoenix."

"I don't know. I hadn't given it much thought. I've been…preoccupied." Aly nodded, knowing just what had distracted him. Even now, his eyes watched the skies. Only two times since he saw the creature in the sky had he heard the call, and yet those two times shook him from the very core of his being.

"How about a dragon this year?"

"A dragon?" Nergal laughed. "You're jesting. Mother would have a fit."

"Your mother wouldn't know. It's not like she comes to the Festivals." Aly was right. Nergal's mother never went to the festivals. She always believed them too gaudy and rowdy for her pious tastes. However, she never objected to her children going, as the Fall Festival was a favorite of her late husband. "This is perfect. I'm going as the White Angel, that smote evil, and you can be the Dark Dragon, that was born from the fires of the Wyvern Crags. We can go as a pair; I can thrust my sword into your most unholy heart just like in the legends."

Nergal shook his head. "The Dark Dragon was a fearsome creature. The stories don't do it justice. I've read real accounts on that thing. I don't want to parody it."

Aly rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, stamping her foot. "Oh come on. Be a sport. You're not parodying it; you're revering the history." Nergal still appeared unconvinced; he was not even looking at Aly. "Besides, Volt did a marvelous Dark Dragon costume two years ago, and I'd like to outdo him." Nergal was unrelenting. Aly rested her head on Nergal's shoulder and stared at him with wide eyes. "Please Nergal?"

Stella skipped down to them, beaming brightly. "Mother said I could go. Can I try it on now?"

"Yes, Stella. You can. Let's go up to your room, and we'll fit it."

The three walked in the house and climbed up to the garret. Nergal leaned back on his bed while Aly dressed Stella behind a crate. Almost drifting off, Nergal woke as Stella squealed, running out from behind the crate.

"Am I pretty?" she asked, turning around and letting the skirt swish around her. She wore a purple dress with several layers and little ruffles on the skirt; a red apron fell from her waist to her knees. The fabric flooded her tiny size from its high collar to its sweeping trimmings at her feet, and Aly had pinned her hair up into a messy bun to clear the way for two wire-and-cotton ivory wings. The most prominent feature of the costume was the mask. Tied with a strap behind her head, it muffled her voice. It was oval shaped, with green lined eyes against a white backdrop, bold red lips, and a butterfly painted in the upper corner.

"Stella, you're beautiful," Nergal said. "All the boys will be fighting to dance with you." Stella giggled and turned again.

"Now take it off, Stella," said Aly as she ushered Stella behind the crate again. "The hem needs to be raised a little; I'll fix it right up and bring it back as soon as possible." Nergal heard Stella huff.

"Can I keep the mask though?" she pleaded, and Aly yielded. When Stella emerged, she asked Nergal, "What are you going to be?"

"We're going as a pair," Aly said before he could even move his lips. "I'm going to be the White Angel, and he will be the Dark Dragon." Stella thought it over for a moment, trying to remind the exact story, but when it hit her, her face lit up.

"Really Nergal? That's…that's magnificent!" Stella raced around him. "And what are you going to wear? Are you going to have wings like me?"

"Uh, yeah." Nergal shot Aly a piercing glare but went along with it. She ignored him.

"Well, come on Stella. We're going into town to buy supplies. We'll work it out there." Next thing they knew, Stella was climbing down the ladder and bounding out the door. Aly, left with Nergal in the garret, shrugged. "I figured you wouldn't say no to her."

----

Their lazy gait to town was only bothered by the tight tension both Aly and Nergal felt. Stella never picked up on it, but the older pair sensed a danger. Aly kept her eye on Stella while Nergal surveyed both the skies and the surrounding landscape.

Home seemed safe. The warm barriers warded any threats, but here, on the open road, the dragons could prey on innocent travelers. The notion of a dragon swooping in from the skies, unseen, with fiery breath felling the trio in one infernal exhalation sent a freezing shiver running in Nergal.

As Stella moved ahead several paces, the topic surfaced among Aly and Nergal in low tones; they walked close to each other and each kept their respective watches as they talked.

"Pa says he saw something last night in the fields," Aly told Nergal. "He fetched my brother and uncle, but they found nothing except some trampled wheat." She choked on her words. "I'm scared, Nergal. I'm real scared. I went into town just yesterday, and there was this man saying that an oracle predicted a huge war betwixt man and dragon in the coming years." Her fear floated to Nergal, welling inside of him, adding to what he already felt. "This oracle said it was not imminent but there would be many deaths leading up to it. Widow Marah was on the steps sobbing, and you know that old lady did not even cry at her husband's funeral; the whole town has heard the beast. They say, Nergal, that we will be the first to go."

Nergal grabbed Aly's hand and squeezed it. "Because we're so close to the Wyvern Crags right?" She nodded and rubbed her eyes. Her fingers came away glistening. They shared eye contact for one moment, each seeing their own trepidation reflecting in the other's eyes.

And in that one split second that they tore their eyes away from the rest of the world, Stella screamed. Almost immediately, Nergal felt her arms around his waist as the screaming continued. Nergal knelt down to his hysterical sister and tried to stop her shaking.

"Sweet God, Nergal," Aly gasped. Her fingers clawed at his shoulder, nails tearing through his shirt and into his skin. He looked up and almost shouted himself.

Not far from the edge of the road lounged a creature- a dragon or wyvern, Nergal did not know. It raised his head to stare curiously at the shocked trio, its attention caught by Stella's shrieks. It was not the black eyes themselves that appeared menacing- in fact, they were more mildly amused- but rather it was the horns that they rested under, the knife-like craws that stretched out under the creature, and the thick brown skin that seemed impenetrable that gave the beast its frightening appearance.

Its head lowered back down to lay on its front claws. It snorted, but neither flames nor smoke puffed out of the huge nostrils.

From behind the behemoth stepped a man. He ran his hand along its belly without any apprehension. He wore leather pants stuffed into riding boots, a gray shirt under tight suspenders. A hat sat crooked off his head, with tufts of sandy hair poking out underneath. He waved to them with a sheepish smile.

Stella's screams ceased, and she stole a peek towards the creature. "What is it Nergal?"

"I don't know," he responded truthfully. The man now approached them.

"Hullo! Didn't mean to scare you folk," he apologized from afar. When he came closer, he held out his hand for shaking. Aly slunk away from it, but Nergal accepted it after a brief hesitation. "Don't mind Milly there. She's a sweet ol' beast." Aly's eyes widened.

"You mean you've given that thing a name?" she screeched.

"Now, I realize you folk here aren't quite used to the notion of Wyvern riders," he explained, "but don't worry none. They take to humans real well." With a smug smile, he added, "the dragons have been trying to domesticate them for centuries."

"You ride them?" Nergal asked.

The man nodded. "Yep, we saddle them up and take to the skies. It's our greatest defense against them dragons; flying is one of their greatest assets, and if we can do it, then we got one more thing against them." Humbly, he bowed his head. "I'm sorry if she's scared you much in the last few days. We didn't want to scare you folk too much, but according to Hartmut, the whole area's been hearing Milly's hunger call."

"We saw her too," Nergal said.

"Real sorry, sir. Been trying to keep a low profile, but they aren't made to be quiet." He waved towards the mass of buildings that formed the town. "Hartmut and Jameson, my companions, are talking to the townspeople right now. Trying to smooth things out."

"Do they have Wyverns too?" Nergal became less scared and more curious as time progressed.

"What? You want to see more of those things?" Aly asked, horrified.

"Just curious," Nergal defended himself.

"Nah. There's only a few riders. Partly 'cause we can't get that many tame Wyverns, unless we breed them; it's a hassle trying to train grown ones. Also partly 'cause most ain't willing to ride one. Jameson and Hartmut don't even want to try saddling her, though they will pet her some." He smirked. "She don't like Hartmut much."

"Jameson, he's the one that told us all about the Oracle," said Aly

The rider nodded. "We've been trying to warn people in this area. We want them to be prepared." His eyes fell on Nergal like thrown stones. "In a few years, boy, you might be facing those dragons head on. It ain't a pleasant thought, but it sure is true."

Nergal's throat closed up. He could only numbly nod as the possibility set in his mind. Fighting a dragon? With what? A sword? He only saw the town militia bear swords before; they wielded flimsy spathas that were forged to fight off bandits, not the thick, scaly flesh of dragons, which was more resilient than armor was. (Not that any one in the area used armor; Nergal read about the different types in books, but he had never seen anyone actually wear it.)

"My name is Garin," he introduced himself at last. "Y'all want to pet Milly? She loves visitors."

Aly's response came in an instant "no!" and Stella clung tighter to Nergal. But the image of himself fighting off dragons suddenly put a new perspective on it for Nergal. If he did fight in a few years, then these creatures would be allies. No courage seeded itself in him but rather a feeling of inevitable encounter.

"Stella," Nergal said, "don't tell Mother about this." He pried off her little hands and stepped forward. "Can I?"

"Nergal, you're crazy. They're demons!" Aly protested. Stella shook visibly.

"Don't let it eat you, Nergal," Stella said and with due cause, as the jowls on the creatures were wide enough to stuff him in with room to spare.

"Come on over," Garin said, "walk a bit slowly now. She'll perk up and let me know if she don't want company."

Nergal took a few steps, paused, took another two, paused, then finished walking the distance between them. Milly looked up again but did not raise her head, letting out a content groan.

"Just reach your hand out like this," Garin instructed. He reached out with fingers extended towards Milly and patted her affectionately on a smooth patch below her horns. "Hey there girl." He gestured for Nergal to follow his example.

Nergal's heart threatened to break free of his ribcage; it felt inflamed. He kept a considerable distance from Milly's head, just so that his fingers would brush against her. When this did not work, he took one meager step closer, reached out, and ran his hand over her head.

Milly did not jerk, spew flames, or snap her jaws. She barely flinched, just let her eyelids drop and sighed. Nergal's breathing settled, and soon, the Wyvern's snorts made more noise than that of his thudding heart. He came closer and freely petted her. When he withdrew from her, he took a moment to catch his breath. The anxiety took a few moments to pass completely, and the thought of what he just did unnerved him. He petted a Wyvern. He treated a relative of the mighty dragons like he would a dog.

From the road, Stella called out, "can I try?" Her voice sounded shaky. With a laugh, Garin gestured her over. Her timorous pace stopped within a foot of Milly. She froze, not even shaking, just staring wide eyed at the Wyvern, who, detecting a new presence, peeked open one eyelid before sliding it close again.

Garin wrapped an arm around Stella's waist and lifted her into the air. At the last moment, she panicked and struggled out of his grasp.

"Easy, sweetie. Just go on and pet her."

"It's all right, Stella," Nergal assured her, "you'll be fine."

Stella felt the head of the Wyvern, the rough contours of the scales, the warmth under her fingers, the rigid skull under the skin. She immediately retracted her hand, then reached out again to stroke it some more.

"Wow," she breathed. "I did it." Her voice rose. "I did it, Nergal." She looked back at Aly. "I did it!" She giggled as Garin set her down.

"You know, sweetie, in the Illian Mountains, they have these creatures called Pegasi that only allow women to ride them. I've seen but one, but let me tell you, they are gorgeous creatures.

"Nergal, didn't you say Pegasi weren't real?" Stella asked.

"I thought they weren't. But I suppose they are," he answered. Pegasi, something he always took for petty myth, were real. The fact, though, did not seem so strange after what he had just done.

"Why the Pegasus knights were what inspired us to train Wyverns," Garin said, "and though you'd never know it, Wyverns are a hell of a lot better tempered than those horsies any day."

After speaking with Garin for several minutes, Nergal and Stella returned to Aly, who watched them from the edge of the road. She had staunchly refused to go near Milly, and even now, as Stella excitedly recounted her meeting, she listened with a stony face.

"You know what, I think I finally realize what you mean by revering history," Nergal said. "It put things into perspective. They are awesome creatures."

"Nergal," Aly spoke up, "I don't think I want you to be the Dark Dragon any more."

----

Author's Note: I wanted to introduce some parts of the Fire Emblem legends, and Hartmut and the Dark Dragon fit neatly in there. Having a legend of the Dark Dragon before Idoun is interesting to write.

Next chapter is the Fall Festival, an exciting event that will remain with Nergal forever, and not just for its merry memories.

Thanks to JSB for beating: )

Reviews are loved!!


	4. Forgiveness

_To Err is human;_

_To forgive is divine._

_-Alexander Pope_

**Chapter Four: Forgiveness **

So glassy were her eyes, so unfamiliar, though they were Stella's eyes and his eyes too. Lifeless, they stared forward, at a spoon on the table, at an ant crawling in the cracks of the wall. Her hands, folded in her lap, never twitched; her feet remained flat on the ground. It appeared that if anyone so much as poked her, she would fall over.

"Mother?" Nergal said, hoping to bring her out of her stupor. No response- not verbal, not physical- came from her. "Mother, I was wondering if there was any spare change for the festival." This silence formed a shawl that wrapped around Nergal's shoulders, weighing him down. "Mother, Stella wants to buy some plaited ribbons from the stand this year for her hair." He paused. "You promised her she could get them this year remember?" All the while, Nergal edged closer.

When he reached her chair, he knelt down in front of her, took her cold hands into his own, and stared into her eyes. Something, behind the dark pupils, struggled in her; her lips were pale, her expression limp. Never before had he seen his mother in such a state.

"Mother, those men, Cadfael and Radek, were here earlier weren't they?" he asked her. At the sound of their names her head inclined so that she stared her son in the eyes, but her expression never changed. "What do those men want?" His grip tightened on her hands. "Please, tell me. Maybe I can help."

"You could never help us, Nergal." Some color returned to her face, and her lips drew into a tight line. "We never needed help in the first place."

Nergal let go his mother and stood. "You're lying." Sudden frustration pooled inside of him. He clenched his fists to keep himself from kicking a chair across the room. "Tell me the truth."

"Lying is a sin, Nergal. I would never lie to you." She choked on her chide. "Don't you ever accuse of lying again, you hear me?" Nergal did not say anything, and his Mother screamed it out in an unusual fit. "Do you hear me!" After bursting out, she suddenly fell limp again, reverting to her doll-like state.

Nergal recoiled. Her eyes turned red, and a glimmering tear dropped down her cheek. He moved to wipe it away, but it had already dripped off her chin and splashed to the ground.

"Nergal," she spoke softly, "I'm so sorry, Nergal. Can you forgive me?" Nergal nodded. "Please forgive me!"

"I forgive you Mother!" he said, returning to her side. "Whatever has happened, we'll live through it." She gasped and buried her head into her hands, sobbing freely. Her head then rose to stare at her son mournfully before she enveloped him in a fierce embrace.

"My brilliant son. You will be great one day, so great." She pulled away. "I don't need an oracle to foretell that." The oracle: so his mother had heard the news. No wonder she was so upset; it was not Cadfael nor Radek that had torn her so; it was the future. Nergal thought about the wyvern the other day. Perhaps she had heard of it too, and her fear had exhausted her. Either way, it affected her gravely. "People will respect you, Nergal; you're a leader, a challenger, a thinker. Promise me that through all of it you will take care of your sister."

"Of course, Mother," Nergal said as her hand came to rest on his cheek. "And I will take care of you too. There is nothing to fear."

"In this day and age, there is everything to fear."

----

"What happened to the Dark Dragon idea?" Stella asked as Nergal laced up her robes.

"Aly couldn't find all the right materials; I'm going as an Elf instead," Nergal said, giving the laces a final tight tug before tying them together a knotted bow. As soon as he released her, she scrambled away from him to snatch her mask and wings, and then moved for the hatch.

"Where are you going?" Nergal asked.

"Mother said she was going to do my hair for me," Stella said with bright grin. "And help me with my wings." Nergal knew what she meant; for his mother to help Stella with her 'gaudy' costume was a huge thing. He smiled.

"All right. Go on. I'll get changed while she's working on you."

Tucking the rest of her costume under her arm, Stella climbed down the ladder. Nergal closed the hatch for her but not all the way; he left it slightly propped up. He moved to put on his evergreen robes, staying by the hatch all the while.

At first, his Mother twittered over Stella, forcing her to sit still in a chair, an activity Stella absolutely abhorred. Through the crack, Nergal saw her fidget, especially once her mother took out not only a brush but an ivory veil.

"This was mine, Limstella," she said, letting Stella feel the tulle. "When I went to the Fall Festival when I was young. That was when your father first courted me." She took a deep breath. "I always enjoyed it when I was your age; when you're young you love such things. Enjoy it while it lasts, Limstella."

Stella had a funny expression on her face. No one ever except for the priest in town called her Limstella; her parents gave her the name to honor a dead relative with the intent to call her Stella. Now her mother was giving her this precious veil and calling her by her full name.

"Sit still, child, and I will show you how to fix it in your hair." She wove her finger through Stella's long strands. "You will wear it for me, won't you, my dear?"

"Yes," Stella squeaked.

Picking up a comb, her Mother brushed her hair, and then separated it in sections before pulling it together.

"Oh my dear Limstella, my precious daughter. My most beautiful Limstella, look at you. So graceful and pretty; you will grow up a queen." Her fingers twisted and tugged and folded Stella's hair. "You must promise me, Limstella, that you will always listen to your brother; always be loyal to him. You won't find many in this world that you can trust. Tonight never leave his side; promise me that Limstella." Stella made a barely audible agreement. "Good, my precious daughter."

When she finished, she had fashioned the hair into a plaited bun. She took an ornamental comb this time to attach the veil to the hair, tucking it behind the bun. The veil trailed down her back as she stood, swaying every time she moved her head. She craned her neck to get a proper view of it.

"Settle down. I suppose we should call your brother." Through the crack, Nergal saw her eyes flicker up, and he quickly dashed from the tiny opening. When his name left his mother's lips, he grabbed his mask and headed down. His mask had a round shape, accentuated with two sharp triangles for ears. Usually younger boys went as Elves, but it was the only thing they could come up with in two days.

Stella's smile was small; the expression on her face appeared so strange. Her brow bent, pushing down her cheeks and narrowing her eyes into deep concentration.

"There you go, Nergal." His mother embraced him from behind. He heard her sob onto his shoulder. "So handsome and brilliant. Make me proud." She turned him around then yanked him back into her fierce hug. "You too, Stella." Stella relaxed at the sound of her normal name and joined the embrace. When their mother let go, teary eyed, she spoke to them through a mouthful of emotion. "You're w-waiting for the Hudsons right?"

"Yes," Nergal affirmed.

She waved them off. "Well, you best wait outside then." She began to drink on her own tears. Stella gasped and ran to wrap her arms around her mother's waist. "Oh dear, don't worry. Just remember, I love you both. And be safe. Please, be safe." Her bloodshot eyes met with Nergal's, which were beginning to water themselves. _And forgive me _she pleaded in her expression.

Prying Stella off her waist, she pushed her daughter towards Nergal and turned away as they exited their house. Stella's face glittered in the silver light; Nergal realized her own silent tears had started to pour. He knelt down to her, drying her face with his thumb, willing himself to remain strong in her presence.

"Stella, you heard that man the other day talk about the war, right? And you've heard things in town surely," Nergal said. Stella nodded, with a high-pitched sound squealing from the back of her throat. "Well, Mother is very distraught over it. She wants to make sure that if anything happens, we'll know how much she cares for us, but nothing's going to happen to us. We'll pull through it. Give Mother a few days to settle down; do your chores and be considerate, and everything will be better." His words failed to comfort himself, though they had a slight effect on his sister, who nodded her understanding and sniffed back her tears.

They waited, sitting on the stoop, for ten minutes in the suffocating darkness for the Hudsons. All the while Stella wiped away her constant tears in many ill attempts to stop crying. Nergal's own emotions conflicted with each other; even at the mature age of fifteen, he wanted to break down and scream to the skies the injustices of life, but he had to remain stoic in the face of his sister. He tried to calm her a few more times, but words only worsened her state, surfacing the lies and uncertainty about the future.

"Nergal," she whispered. "I don't really want to go to the festival any more. Can't we stay here with Mother?"

"Nonsense Stella," Nergal said. "You'll have fun; it'll get your mind off things."

"But Mother called me Limstella! She's never called me that before; she scared me tonight, Nergal. She was crying. She never does that. I'm so scared now." She hugged her knees to her chest, no longer denying herself the relief of tears. "If it's that bad, we shouldn't go; we shouldn't leave her."

Nergal now realized that no festival could draw Stella away from this state; she would be sullen all night. So would he, he knew. Standing, he offered Stella a hand as he said, "Come on let's go back in." He pulled her up on her feet, and then turned towards the door.

"Nergal! Stella!" Their names were followed with a laugh and pounding feet. Now Nergal had to break it to Aly that they were no longer attending the festival. They did not move though; both of their backs faced her. "Well, why are you two just standing there? Come on!" She grabbed Stella's wrist to twirl her around, but Stella wrestled her off. Aly's voice lowered to a note of concern. "What's going on?"

Nergal forced himself to look her in the eye. "Our Mother is very distraught. We think it's best if we stay with her tonight."

"I'm sorry, Aly," Stella mumbled. "I know you worked very hard on our costumes."

"Oh Stella," Aly said, "don't worry about it." She spoke to Nergal, "what happened?"

Mr. Hudson, strolling up the garden, cleared his throat. "Nergal," he said in his booming voice, "may I speak with you?" He jerked his head, twisting his trunk-like neck, towards a corner of the garden. Nergal nodded and followed him. "I came by to speak with your ma earlier, catch up on some things," he drawled, "She was in a sorry state, lad. I think she needs lone time; if y'all go to the festival for any one's sake, do it for hers. Having you children around is not going to comfort her much."

Nergal sighed. "It's upset Stella too. I don't think she's up for it tonight."

"Hell Nergal, I can see you ain't for it tonight." One of Mr. Hudson wide farmer hands settled on Nergal's shoulder. "But I think you'd be mighty cheered once we get there, even if you don't think so."

Nergal sighed and looked back at Stella. Her face relaxed into a bland expression; she did not want to show Aly her tears. His gaze traveled to the window, where light spilled out the ground. Inside, he knew his mother felt equally distressed.

"Sorry, sir, but I believe it's best for us to remain here."

"Nergal," softly came Stella's voice. Nergal saw her approach them. "I've changed my mind," she said with almost no emotion. "Let's just go."

"Are you sure?" Stella shrugged, then nodded. "All right then. We'll go."

-----

The festival awaited them on the outskirts of town. In the darkness nothing could be seen except the vivid lanterns, the mercurial towers of the bonfires, and the light that seeped through the plain canvas sheets that covered booths selling ribbons, knives, and all sorts of delectable treats.

The first whiff of fried dough usually made Nergal's stomach rumble in anticipation, but this year, the scent failed to excite him. Neither did the noise; it was simply din upon his ears. He lowered his mask once they reached the vicinity, not for tradition's sake, as the throes of people around him did, but rather so that he could conceal his distressed state.

Stella soon livened up. Aly walked her over to the stand with the plaited ribbons, and as a special treat, the older girl bartered her knitted bracelet for one to give to Stella. Stella tied the ribbon around her wrist, then bounded over to Nergal to show him. Three different ribbons- one lavender, one green, one pink- wove around her arm.

"See?" And in that single word she spoke, Nergal found it to be an act. She pretended to be happy, forcing a cheerful tone into her voice, but her aches shone through. Her eyes, not twinkling, stared at the ribbon with a dull look.

"It's pretty," he told her, taking her hand into his own. In the distance, a fiddle duet struck a chord, and the tide of people shifted.

"Are you going to dance this year?" Stella asked him, her eyes watching his for an answer. Nergal loved to dance; they both knew that. If he could dance this year, push away whatever happened to his mother, then he would be free of the restraints and perhaps all would truly be ameliorated.

If he did not, he would be saying something indeed was wrong; their mother's omen would hold precedence over them.

"Of course." His hand tightened over her own. "And I'm saving the first one for you." She tugged at him, towards the sound of the strings, towards the warmth of the people.

"Then let's go," she said, "let's just get it over with."

Aly came up behind them and slipped her arms around Nergal's neck before Stella could drag him off. In his ear, she whispered, "and you'll save one for me too, right?"

"Of course," he said and shrugged off her grasp.

-----

In the center of the festival, the ring of tents stopped. A few logs served as benches, already filled with spectators too weary or old to join in the action. Around a bonfire, people joined hands in a traditional circle dance, with children kicking dirt into the fire while the adults danced in the cool outer ring. When the song ended, another struck up; this time, the large crowd broke up into couples.

Several people grinned and waved at Stella and Nergal, who had decided to do away with the masks once they reached the dance ground. Many others had, as the masks were merely an impediment for most of the dances, but when the moon reached its highest point, all took up their disguises once more for the Fable Nocturne.

Nergal held out his hands. "You ready?"

Stella shook her head. "I don't like this song. Next one." She began to rock on her heels in beat with the music, and despite her proclaimed dislike, she hummed along to its familiar strains.

"You both seem happier," Aly noted. "Are you having a good time then?" Nergal nodded his head numbly; in some respects, his spirits had improved, but there was still a pit in his stomach. "I hope Stella won't fall asleep before the Fable Nocturne." She hesitated before continuing. "But if she does…I guess we'll have to be partners."

Nergal snuck a look at Aly from the corner of his eye. It might have been the heat or the excitement, but her cheeks were tinged a faint pink. The pit in his stomach widened, and he shook the implications away as he felt his own face heating up rather quickly.

"Of course," he said. "Just like always."

A hand took Nergal's, and for a second, he thought it was Aly's. So enraptured in his thoughts that he had not noticed the music changed, and Stella wanted to dance.

"This one," Stella said. "I like this one." Someone had taken to plucking a lute along with the fiddler's, a horn tuned its screeching flat notes, and the chimes of a tambourine rang out as the musician set the beat. Nergal knew this song, just as he knew every other song; it was a mournfully sweet one, with a resounding melody and a slow, foot-shuffling type of dance.

Hand in hand, Nergal and Stella walked out. Missus Barnson spotted them and called out how lovely they both looked that night; the twins from the Waverly farm, a girl draped on each of their arms, said that Nergal looked like a pansy. Both comments, polite and ill, fell numbly on their ears.

When the tune picked up, shifting to a major key, Nergal twirled Stella, and traded partners, as per the traditional choreography. Dari Dalk, a girl he knew from the next town over, became his temporary partner, and speaking with the affable girl brought some semblance of a smile to his face, so that when the next stanza played and Stella switched back to him, he was in a lighter mood that limbered his legs.

This song melded into that, and after a while, the cheer of their surrounding patrons caught on with them. Aly watched them with relief as Stella stumbled and the two laughed over her clumsiness.

After a few dances, Stella released him, claiming to want to see her friend Mara, while shyly backing out with a giggle rumbling behind her smirk. That left Nergal alone with Aly, who stood there silently for a moment, waiting to see what Nergal would do next.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, do you want to dance?" Why, all of a sudden, was it so awkward to ask her such a question? They had danced together since they were children, mere six year olds, kicking haphazardly in the circle dances. Just last year, they spent half the time in each other's arms, not caring about their positions, or even noticing. Now, the thought of it unnerved Nergal and made his words stick to the back of his throat.

Aly, though, brightened up at his question and agreed a bit too enthusiastically. Their hands folded together and bodies neared, but then they both shrunk back to keep some distance. Nergal tried to conceal any expression on his face; the last thing he wanted was to turn crimson in this crowd of familiar. Aly, meanwhile, grew interested in Nergal's shoulder, facing that rather than staring into his eyes.

They stumbled over each other's feet, strange for such a graceful pair. Then, when the music ended, they parted, almost relieved. When Stella came to neither of their rescues, they came together again and danced a few songs.

"That was fun," Aly said, just to speak as the last song ended. She looked around as if she was searching the sky for a new topic to talk about. The distant clime of the church bell told them it was midnight, and the whole throng of people cheered in anticipation for the Fable Nocturne. "We better grab our masks and find Stella."

"She's probably busy with Mara." The words slurred out of Nergal's mouth before he could stop himself. Aly stared at him curiously, and Nergal knew he could not turn back. "I would like to dance it with you, if that's all right."

A smile broke out on Aly's face, and now neither could resist blushing. "I would love that," she said, and both went to retrieve their masks. Retying them behind their ears, they grinned from behind their masks.

The Fable Nocturne, the same song, the same singer murmuring the same story, began slowly as did the tale. At first came the introduction of the mythical creatures, in which each partner bowed to the other, bending their knees in a slight dip. Then came the Initiation of the Dark and Light, which suddenly changed from lento to appassionato. In and out the dancers weaved. After that, came the March of the Heroes, which prompted every dancer to clap on the offbeat of the stately parade.

Just as the maudlin Mourning Tune started, a screech tore through the air, stopping each dancer, silencing the musicians, and sending the children into fits of screaming. Even the crying died down after a moment, leaving a wake of silence.

"It's just that wyvern," someone stuttered out while trying to laugh. "Nothing to worry about." People buzzed his words, "nothing to worry about,", but a feeling of insecurity washed over them all.

----

Sleep weighed down on Nergal's eyelids as they approached their little gate. The Hudsons bid them farewell, and as Stella shuffled towards their home, Aly paused to kiss Nergal discreetly on the cheek.

"Goodnight," she whispered, and Nergal raised his hand in farewell, silenced by her sudden action.

"Nergal," Stella yawned from the stoop. "Come on."

Nergal joined, and they walked into the dark house. Music still echoed in his ears, and he missed the warmth of the revelers around him. Stifling a yawn as he came in, he looked over to his mother's door. It was cracked slightly open.

'I better tell her we're back,' he thought and creaked the door open slightly. More darkness in her room. "Mother," Nergal spoke, "we're back." No answer. Rubbing some of the sleep away from his eyes, he moved towards the bed.

Something was wrong.

"Stella," Nergal called as he heard her climb the first few rungs of their ladder. He placed his hand on the smooth covers of the bed. "Light a lamp." He heard Stella sighed and sluggishly drop down. All exhaustion left him in a rush. "Quickly."

The orange glow of the lamp distorted the room, but it was clear. Their mother was not here. Stella gasped.

"Where is she?" Stella asked, her voice rising. Nergal backed up, not saying a word, a realization flooding his mind. It explained everything. Why his mother wanted forgiveness. Why she had acted as she had before.

Stella thrust the lamp into Nergal's hands and fell to her knees, sliding on the floor to the bed. She peeked under it, desperately looking for her mother or any clue to her whereabouts. She stood and spun around to face Nergal, fresh tears trailing down her face.

"Where is she? She must have gone on an errand. Or what if thieves came and took her away?" Stella cried, loudly. She screamed and tore at her hair.

"Stella," Nergal said softly.

"But she'll come back, right? She has to come back. She has to!" Another scream and Stella tumbled over on the bed, letting the bed absorb her sorrow. She slammed one fist on the straw mattress. Nergal sat down next to her and stroked her hair.

"Stella…"

"But she's not, is she Nergal? She's not gone for good and never coming back, is she?"

Nergal had nothing to say; his silence affirmed the truth of her statement. He would be strong for her and not shed any sign of his distress, only to soothe her as the night wore on.

-------

Author's Note: Wow, that was one heck of a chapter for me to write. The musician in me came out. For those who don't know musical terms:

Lento- slow

Appassionato- Passionately

Their mother calling her Limstella is a vital detail to the story but not one that will become apparent for a long time.

Next chapter will be very, very difficult for me to write, so we'll see how I do. :)

Thanks to JSB, superb as always!


	5. Loss

_And like all families, they had their secrets…_

_-Glinda from Wicked _

**Chapter Five: Loss**

When Nergal woke, just a few days later, he felt stiff and out of place. Once again, he was not staring at the ceiling of the garret but rather the thatched roof of the Hudson's home. Under his back, the bare kitchen floor stretched out, hardly a comfortable bed but one suitable for the sudden hospitality Nergal found himself accepting from the Hudsons.

He had wanted to stay in their home, despite his mother's absence, but Mr. Hudson had insisted. Just one more year, he reasoned, before Nergal's apprenticeship began. Until then, he ought to be in a stable home, kept busy instead of mourning his mother's escape.

Nergal heard Stella's uneasy breathing next to him. What would happen in a year? Could he possibly bring Stella with him to the Desert Peninsula? No matter how kind the Hudsons were, Nergal was her only family, and he would never leave her, not now; he would not submit her to the same grief of departure she experienced with their mother. So if Afa would not allow her to tag along, Nergal would not accept the apprenticeship.

He pulled himself up, clearing his mind and remembering the day he met Afa. No one knew Afa, and he came into town with little fanfare. Even if it was over two years ago, Nergal still remembered him clearly. He was a tall, imposing man with a wispy gray beard and dark green eyes that sparked under the heavy wrinkles running along his brow. He wore billowy robes, unlike anything Nergal had seen before. They swirled around him as he walked, and one tome was always tucked under his arm. For his age, he was remarkably alert, posture erect, eyes clear.

When he met Nergal, he instantly took interest in him. A young boy of remarkable potential, he had called him. Something else, he had said, something Nergal never quite understood.

"At last," Afa whispered, when he thought himself alone, "I have found my human pupil."

His parting words were not that of a goodbye. He told Nergal that on his sixteenth birthday, a man named Jaffry would come and escort him to the Desert Peninsula, where Nergal would be Afa's pupil. His mother had cried for days in pure joy; oh, her son was going to be the apprentice of a great— albeit a mysterious— scholar.

The air touching his feet was cold as Nergal pushed aside his blankets. Treading lightly across the floor, so that not even a creak would wake Stella, Nergal moved to a trunk that belonged to him. He lifted the top, and with one arm propping it open, he rummaged around inside until he came with a few sheets of parchment, a pen, and his inkwell, a gift from his late father.

Using the top of the trunk as a desk, Nergal scribbled down a letter that needed writing. He paused at the beginning, not sure how to address Afa.

_Dear Professor Afa,_

That would work.

_My situation in life—_It sounded awkward, but Nergal decided to word it as vaguely as possible as he did not want to express exactly what had happened to him—_ has changed since our last meeting. I now find myself as sole guardian of my younger sister. If you still wish to take me on as your pupil, then you must relent to letting my sister come along and live with me as long as I am with you. If this is too much to ask, then I understand and will choose to remain here to be with her. Thank you very much._

He signed his name in plain script, rolled up the parchment, and stored it in his trunk. He would send it later. Nergal figured it would take a while for it to reach Afa, and he would not expect a response. The appearance of this man, Jaffry, would be answer enough.

"Oh Nergal! Sweetheart, you're awake," spoke Mrs. Hudson in her soft voice behind him. "Here, let me fetch you some breakfast." Nergal turned to face her.

"Thank you," he said.

"Try to smile, Nergal." Mrs. Hudson kneeled next to him and pinched his chin between her fingers, lifting his face up to match hers. "I know it ain't easy, Nergal, but try. For Stella's sake."

Nergal nodded. "Yes ma'am."

Mrs. Hudson pecked his forehead and stood. "Now, Aly and I are going to take Stella to town a bit later. Good for her to get out and about for a spell. Take her mind off things."

"I agree," Nergal said, "she should not dwell on it any more than she can. She hasn't smiled since the festival, and I don't think I'll see her smile ever again."

Mrs. Hudson's back now faced him as she rummaged in the cabinets that hung off the wall. The unvarnished wood of the cabinets, rough in appearance yet smooth to the touch, had a homey quality to them not quite matched back at Nergal's tiny home shared with his family, and yet, Nergal yearned for the prim cottage; he wanted to sleep another night up in the garret, on his side of the attic, with the dust and the boxes shoved to the other side, with the smell of spiced meat strong in winter and the mugginess that baked it in summer. He wanted to sit at their table, across from Stella, with their meager meals of vegetables and scraggly pieces of chicken. It was not homey, it was not relaxed, it was not cozy, but all of those reasons were why it was home and why Nergal would never find a home quite like it again.

His thoughts distracted him. He did not realize the sudden tightness that grew in his chest, making it hard to breathe and causing his eyes to water. Nergal did not cry; he never cried since before he could remember. He held Stella as she sobbed every night when the Hudsons retired and let her use his sleeve to wipe away those tears, but Nergal did not cry.

Now, he felt his resolve breaking. He felt the impact, the sudden surge of this permanent reality sweep over him. And now, such a simple, silly, stupid thing such as his attachment to his home caused him to sniffle just a little bit. And when he did notice this, he felt embarrassed, feeling his cheeks flush as he tried to conceal it.

It was to no avail. Mrs. Hudson not only saw it but immediately comforted him. Not a tear made the transition from his eyes to his skin, yet she was there, enveloping him in her arms and rocking him back and forth, with whispers in his ears. Nergal's teeth clenched. He would not—could not!— cry. Not now. Not here.

When Mrs. Hudson finally released him, the look on her face changed from sympathy to disappointment. "Even the strongest of men cry, Nergal. You oughtn't feel ashamed to do it."

But still, he did not shed a single drop.

----

"Miriam," the low rumble of Mr. Hudson's voice called to her as Aly and Stella tied on their hats, ready to leave for the day's errands. Into town, as Nergal recalled, they would be taking a trip into town. But Mr. Hudson's countenance appeared strangely grieved, with his brow set low and his lips pursed. He had not intended for Nergal to hear him, the young man realized; all the more reason to find out what he had to say.

"What is it?" Mrs. Hudson hissed from the corner of her mouth. She crossed the kitchen to where Mr. Hudson stood at the base of the stairs. His arms crossed, and hers acted to match them. They were a fine pair, Nergal thought; they had the same grave look on their face.

"Perhaps you ought to leave the young one here," Mr. Hudson spoke. He purposely avoided using Stella's name, lest she catch him saying it. "I still don't think—"

"Ah, but I think it is good for her," Mrs. Hudson cut him off. "Look at her. This has been hard on her, and we need something to serve as a good distraction. I think this will be a fine way to get her mind off things."

Mr. Hudson's protests intrigued Nergal. From his spot, he had to strain his ears to gather just what they were saying, so he sidled a bit closer, pretending to keep himself busy while tuning his hearing to their words.

"It ain't safe." These words caught Nergal by surprise. He nearly dropped the bowl in his hands—a bowl he had not been paying much attention to and really did not realize it had been in his grasp in the first place— upon hearing these words. Ain't safe. Curious. Why wasn't it safe? "You know that bout as well as I do, Miriam. Till we got the place scoured, I ain't lifting my foot on this issue, and that is that."

"Neither am I. You may be the head of the house, but you are wrong in assuming you think you can understand little girls like that. If we keep her inside this house much longer, she will be worse off than ever. She needs to be among her familiars; new faces, and happy ones at that, will be good for her." Her voice lowered to a deadly growl. "She ain't like Nergal. She can't get a good understanding bout what's going on and all. Sweet mercy, have some pity on the girl!"

Nergal looked over to Stella. She was pulling on her boots, fumbling with the laces. He watched as Aly hovered over her, taking the laces from her and tugging them tight before tying them. Stella watched with a dead expression on her face; nothing pulled at her features, not even a frown. Her skin had turned ashen it seemed, like she had ingested some foul poison. In a way, Nergal realized, their mother's abandonment was like a poison, eating away at them as they tried to figure out why.

Ain't safe.

Why ain't it safe?

Mr. Hudson knew something, something he did not want Nergal to know. Secrets, like the ones his mother kept from him! Perhaps it was the secret that his mother refused to share with him, the secret behind her departure. He knew why she left, and he had not the pity to share it with them.

Striding over to Stella and Aly, Nergal tousled Stella's hair. In the most activity he had seen on her in days, she swatted the hand away, looking up at him in mild annoyance. It was an improvement.

"You're going to have fun today, right?" he asked her, and she numbly nodded. "Good." From his pocket, he took out a tarnished copper coin, and he pressed it into her palm. "Buy yourself a treat."

Stella stared at the coin for a moment. "I'll get a popover, but I'll bring part of it back for you. You haven't eaten very much; I'm worried." Her care matured her several years, and her notice of his change in habits shocked Nergal. Always an astute child, she had never verbalized such thoughts before, but she was right; he had not eaten much. Maybe two meals since their mother left.

"Thank you." He straightened her jacket, then, noticing the top buttons undone, fastened it. "You know how much I love popovers." He hugged her, pressing his lips to her forehead and feeling her squirm underneath. "Take care today, Stella."

"Do you want to come with us, Nergal?" Aly asked. A warm glow reddened her cheeks after she observed the loving embrace.

Though he did want to go, to protect Stella against whatever was not safe, he shook his head. "Your father requested I stay back today."

"You'd get bored anyways," Stella muttered.

Nergal ignored her statement. "Stay warm. It feels a bit drafty already."

Her eyes rose to meet his. "I'll be fine."

After they left, Mr. Hudson remained by the stairs, his gaze set on Nergal. No longer in the presence of his sister, Nergal felt freer to pursue the topic of his mother with Mr. Hudson.

"You wanted to speak to me, sir?" Nergal asked bitterly. Mr. Hudson nodded.

"I wanted to ask what you were going to do now, with your ma gone and all." That was all? He did not want to share what his mother had been hiding from him? Did this man have no sympathy! A reason, a reason was all Nergal asked for, some understanding to shed on the disappearance of his mother, but he received none, just a question to a trouble he had already resolved.

Crossing the room, Nergal picked up the folded letter he had written earlier and gave it to Mr. Hudson. He was unsure if the farmer knew how to read or not; Mr. Hudson shook his head, prompting Nergal to recite it for him.

When he finished, Nergal folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket. As he did so, Mr. Hudson spoke, "well, then, boy. You put some thought in it."

"I have."

"Givin' it all up for Stella; that's real admirable." He turned his gaze away. "Somehow I think you won't be going to that apprenticeship. Masters don't tend to like other dependants."

"Who knows," Nergal said, "he might've forgotten about me. It's been two years since he met some insignificant boy in some unknown town."

Mr. Hudson shook his head violently. "No, boy. You're ain't some insignificant boy. You're special, real special. Destined for something better, something higher. That scholar knew it; I know it. I bet your sister knows it too."

"If I was so special, how come our mother abandoned us?" Nergal realized it said it rather than confined it in his thoughts. _Good,_ he thought. "There's a good question. How come our mother left us like that?" The words stung Mr. Hudson like a slap across the face; he froze.

"Ain't that a mystery," he said. Nergal turned angrily on him.

"A mystery, eh? Some mystery. Especially since you know exactly why!" Nergal snarled.

"Now you just stop right there," Mr. Hudson countered, "I promised your ma I wouldn't bother you with it."

"So you admit you know why!"

"I admit, I do. Ain't going to bother lying to you. You're too smart for that, but no way I'm going to break my word to your mother, boy. She was real grieved. I never expected her to run, but her running told me something. It was worse than I believed."

"I demand to know!" Nergal, even standing on his toes, could rise to Mr. Hudson's height, and in his determination, Mr. Hudson dwarfed him, imposingly tall and suddenly dark.

"I won't break my—"

"My mother gave up any right on what should and shouldn't be told to us when she abandoned us. You're going to keep a promise to a witch like that?" Mr. Hudson's fingers coiled around Nergal's wrist. Clenching his teeth, Nergal bit back the pain. He could already imagine the nasty bruise the grip would leave.

"Don't you be calling your mother a witch. Now, I ain't condoning what she did, but I sure as hell ain't going to be letting you talk that way bout her."

"It isn't safe for us." Nergal dropped his harsh tones, lowering it to a serious whisper that drove the point across. "I heard that from you. Don't I deserve to know just why it isn't safe? Or did you promise not to tell me that either? I want to be sure of just what I need to avoid. Lest I die or anything."

"You're taking a dangerous path with that case, boy. Don't even try mentioning that. Things are worse than you can imagine."

"Then tell me."

Mr. Hudson gave up. He brushed past Nergal and seated himself in one of the table chairs, refusing to face the younger boy. "Fine. Your pa owed money to the worst sort of men, and your ma couldn't pay up." He embellished it with no details, no excitement, no danger. Plain and simple. Those words startled Nergal by their stark value.

"And?"

"And these are tough times, Nergal. Ain't a week that goes by without some story of dragons and war. Bloody, gory tales those are, all the scarier cause they're true. Look to the west. What do you see? There are no little niches like this, no havens. Dragons and men live side by side, and they ain't all too happy bout it. If you lived out there, you'd be a soldier, probably a dead one too. Neither men nor dragons want to live out here, so we been happy for a time. But the battles get worse and worse, and both sides need new turf. They'd even want a place like this, a nowhere, just to train, to prepare. The resources, so fresh, are inviting, and so they flock here."

"I know all this."

"I know you do. I just want to make it clear just what desperation some men feel. Just last week, Gatsborough down by the river was burned to the ground by dragons." This Nergal had not known. Gatsborough—he had never been there himself, but he knew it to be a center of commerce for many of the hamlets in this "nowhere".

It was several days journey away, probably a week or even two. But the distance was startling when Nergal thought of it. The west was always a place besieged by these attacks, but the thought someplace like Gatsborough, like bustling Gatsborough, near the border of the plains, with its reputation as a sturdy, well-to-do town, utterly destroyed brought the reality so much closer. Only two weeks journey, probably faster by flight.

"Cadfael and Radek, they're the ones we owe the money to, right?" It made sense to Nergal, but Mr. Hudson shrugged and replied he never knew the names. "It has to be. I never marked them as dangerous or desperate."

"Every man in this day and age is dangerous and desperate. I don't know their motives, but should something threaten my home and family, I'd do anything, even kill for their protection. It's a stance you've got to adopt, Nergal, else you might just lose Stella." His words stabbed Nergal's stomach. Kill to save Stella. Stella, dying at the hands of Radek or a mighty dragon, made Nergal shiver. It also silenced him for several minutes, during which Mr. Hudson stood. "I've got to make sure my boy's doing his chores. And check up on the cattle. Got a few pregnant cows."

Nergal followed him to the door but stopped on the porch. He sat on the step down, resting his head on his fist and staring out into space. It never really occurred to him that Stella might die, not just die but be murdered. Dragons, such fearful, horrible demons, were responsible for the thought. If Cadfael and Radek were truly desperate, it was because of those monsters.

Nergal wished that Stella remained behind on their trip, just so he could have her close and make sure personally that she was safe. Town seemed so far away.

The sound of a horse's hooves clopping against the dirt path brought Nergal's attention away. Down the path rode a lean young man, in leather armor with a sheath strapped to his belt. When he slid off his horse, he took off his helmet, and feathery blond hair fell out of it. He ran up to Nergal, bronzed face glistening with perspiration and hurried gasps leaving his lips.

"Are you Hudson?" he asked.

"No, I'm—"

"I need to speak with Hudson right away." He peered over Nergal's shoulder into the house. "This is his farm, right?"

"Y-yes. He's in the barn. Let me show you." Nergal led the man down the path to the barn. Stalks fenced the path, blocking the view of the barn just around the corner. The man grew impatient, his long strides matching Nergal's in speed. He was a stranger, though Nergal thought he had seen him once or twice before. But from where?

Mr. Hudson appeared out of the barn doors just as they came in view. The man ran ahead and spoke to Mr. Hudson. When Nergal reached them, this was what he heard:

"What happened?"

The man told him, "some mercenaries came into town. One of them took one of your daughters hostage. I don't know why but—"

"Damnit," Mr. Hudson muttered, and it was all the confirmation Nergal needed to know that it was Stella. Stella, mistaken as his daughter, had been discovered by the debt collectors.

"The men are demanding to see someone from the family or something like that. The magistrate told me to come here quick and fetch you." Mr. Hudson took off down the path, and even the man had to rush to catch up. Nergal followed to the chagrin of the farmer.

"Stay back, Nergal," Mr. Hudson warned him. "This is a dangerous situation."

"If it is Stella—" he began.

"We don't know that," Mr. Hudson interjected.

"But if she is, then I have to be there. I am the man of the family, the sole heir of all our troubles, and I'm not going to let her bear the price of that."

"So be it."

The ride into town was both swifter than Nergal had ever traveled and the most painfully long minutes Nergal ever experienced. He slid off his horse with such alacrity that he nearly fell on his face when both feet met the ground. The crowd was in a buzz around the magistrate's office. Mr. Hudson parted them as he pushed through. Nergal noticed the man had his hand tightly grasped on his hilt. The gleam of steel flashed at Nergal as he drew it out just an inch.

The magistrate's office was a spacious room with a couple chairs and a desk. Those chairs now had been pushed away, though a few were used by burly men bearing axes and maces as they grumbled their impatience. The magistrate was pressed to one wall, wan face drawn tight. He breathed relief when he saw Mr. Hudson enter.

Nergal scoured the room with his eyes for Stella. He saw her in a chair. She did not look up until he called her name, and when she did, sparks of hope igniting in her expression, so did the man next to her, a man who just so happened to be Radek Oaks.

"Nergal, the prodigy, as I recall," Radek said. "So good to see you. And who are these men with you? Trying to match my brute force with your own?" He scrutinized the man that had brought them. "Though I must say, your choice of brutes is rather disappointing."

"My name is Egon Hudson. I'm the guardian for these two children." At any other time, Nergal would have been indignant to be referred to as a child, but he let it pass.

"You are? Then where is their mother?" Radek asked.

"She left them in our care permanently. Where she is, I don't know."

"She's smart, that is if she doesn't care for them. You see, she owed me and my associate quite a sum, and I will see to it that I get that money." A dagger appeared suddenly in Radek's hand. He grasped Stella's hair and pulled her head back, brandishing the dagger's blade just inches from her neck. "I'm not afraid to make an example of this child."

All blood left Nergal's face. He felt dizzy; his juddering legs almost buckled under him. When Stella screamed, he heard nothing else but it. Not even the fierce pounding of his heart, so fierce it burned, could match the earsplitting, heart-breaking effect of that scream.

"Wait," Mr. Hudson's gruffly called out. "We don't got much, but I can pay half now and half next harvest."

"You see these men here, Mr. Hudson?" With the dagger pointing out of his hand, Radek made a broad sweep of the room. There were at least ten of them, Nergal counted. All of them resembled ogres, massive in their build and hideous in their features. Their weapons fit their physical appearances: jagged blades, spiked flails, axes tarnished red. "These men are responsible for protecting our town against the dragons. Surely you've heard of Gatsborough's fate." Mr. Hudson nodded with a grunt. "Well, it has become ever more crucial for them to protect Pensborough since our sister to the north fell. These men, however, will not wait until next harvest for half their salary to be paid. A harvest that might not even come, if the dragons have their way. Your fields could be destroyed this time next year."

"Don't hurt her. If you want to kill someone, kill me!" Nergal screamed.

Radek let out a throaty laugh. "Playing the noble one, are we, you fool? Forgive me if I prefer to take the little one instead." He brushed back her hair. Nergal heard her whimper. He never saw her so pale, so afraid, shaking under the grasp of that evil Radek. Her gray lips parted, and eyes rolled to look at Nergal. In her eyes, he saw it; she still clung to him for the rescue. "You must wonder why? Really, I'm not so evil as I seem. You remember my associate, Cadfael? He has a little girl too, not much younger than this one here. But the dragons don't care if she's seven or seventeen; they'll kill her all the same. If we want to survive in this world, we'd be best off taking their tactics and playing their game. Besides, the death of such a cute creature makes a clear point to the other debtors."

"Monster," the man hissed under his breath, but Radek heard it.

"Careful what you say, young man. Remember, I have the power in this room. Any one of my men could snap your twig of a neck in a second, especially not that puny sword of yours. What are you, a member of the militia here?"

The man laughed. "I happen to be a member of the Mountain Men. We've been taking steps to ensure the safety of the people in this area. Kill that girl, and I promise you that Pensborough might be missed when we assign soldiers. I've actually fought a few dragons, and let me tell you your trolls here couldn't leave so much as a scratch on dragon hide. It takes more than brute force to fell a dragon."

"In the time it takes for your Mountain Men to actually defend us, we might be dead. I feel much safer in the hands of these men than I would with the promise of the crazies that live in the crags." Radek pressed the blade of the dagger against Stella's alabaster neck, not applying enough pressure to break the skin but enough to fill Nergal with a new sense of panic.

Nergal rushed forward, caught by the arms of one of the mercenaries. "Don't you dare kill her!" All senses rubbed into one. He could only concentrate on keeping Stella alive. Faced the possibility of her death, Nergal never let his gaze deviate from her. Her whimpers came out sharper, louder now, and tears rolled from her eyes down her cheeks.

"I don't want to die," she gasped. One of the mercenaries, a brute as he was, shuddered and turned his face away.

"W-wait," the magistrate piped in, "give us an hour, and we can gather the town. People will be more than willing to contribute and pay you back."

"No, I am sick of waiting, and I am sick of you." Radek pressed the serrated edge into Stella's neck. "Say goodbye, now."

"Nergal," Stella screamed, "save me!"

"Stella!" Nergal yelled at the same time, struggling against the arms that held him. His vision blurred, and he could barely scream, his throat felt constricted and dry. Breathing became an impossible task.

Radek hesitated, turned away, and slit her throat.

The knife glided across her skin so easily it seemed, killing innocence and dousing a light of youth with such a deft slash. Her eyes rolled back as the blood, contrasting so brightly against her paleness, gushed forward. When Radek released her body, her corpse tumbled, limp, to the ground, her glassy open and staring at the ground as her blood pooled around her.

The mercenary finally freed Nergal, and the boy crouched by her body. He took her hand into his own, felt the cold, lifeless muscle. So unbelievable that this was his sister now, dead and cold. He felt his body burn, and his soul tear into pieces. And for the first time in a long time, Nergal cried.

----

"I still can't believe they let them go free," the man—whom Nergal now knew to be the one called Hartmut— griped.

"Our militia could not have faced those men," Mr. Hudson explained. "We're weak curs while they at least have the proper arms." Nergal listened with a numb ear.

"Oh please, Jameson and I could've taken on at least half of them. And all Garin had to do was let that Milly-monster screech at them, and they'd be paralyzed with fear. It doesn't take much to get Milly to screech like that. Just step on her tail or something."

Aly, walking next to Nergal, sobbed hysterically. Mrs. Hudson slung an arm around her, battling her own tears, in an attempt to comfort her. Nergal spilt his own only tears while kneeling over her corpse. Now, he could not cry, not even if he wanted to. His expression was stoic; he kept his head bowed so no one would see his face.

Inside, he was in pain, the most agonizing pain Nergal ever dealt with. The scene of Stella's death replayed in his mind over and over. Her last scream, her last gargle of a breath, the blood, her stiff hands…

They trudged now to the hill behind Nergal's old home, the hill where his father lay buried and where Stella, sweet Stella, now rested. They walked up the incline, Nergal dreading every step more than the last.

The funeral had taken place yesterday, but yet, the Hudson insisted on making the trek today, and for some reason, Hartmut wanted to come along. He had spent the last few days with them, giving his condolences to Nergal and helping out however he could. He did not sleep those nights, keeping awake to watch out the window for any intruders.

The dirt, so freshly turned over her grave, a perfect rectangle marking where her body laid, stood out against the grass like the blood did against Stella's skin, and suddenly, Nergal felt nausea sweep over him.

The stone they placed at her head shone in the sunlight. Limstella it read, but it felt wrong to Nergal. He wanted to rub out the 'Lim'. She was not Limstella; she was Stella, innocent girl, his beloved sister.

How could she be dead? He saw her die in front of him, but still, he expected her to greet him in the morning, to bid him good night before she went to bed. It pained him that her last few days alive were spent in despondency. His heart wept when his eyes could not; he felt it swell and pour forward after it had broken with her death.

"I could never kill a young, defenseless girl like that." Hartmut swore quietly, so that only Nergal could hear him. "No matter the circumstances. For your sister, I promise that much."

Nergal did not thank him. He concentrated on the lump of dirt that concealed the box with his sister inside. His love for her had not been killed with Stella; it had not bled from him. Forever and beyond, he would remember his Stella.

When Nergal returned to the Hudson home, he quietly burned the letter to Afa.

----

Author's Note: The most important chapter to date and so far my best. I was troubled with the death scene, as I was with the emotion. I didn't want to overdo the emotion, but I wanted it to be strong all the same. I hope I pulled it off right.

And so ends the first arc of this story, with it goes the life of Stella, one of the important events in the story. I have the next two chapters already written; so, expect the next chapter soon. Thanks to JSB for betaing, and thanks to the reviewers and the readers.


	6. Hatred

"_Hate is too great a burden to bear. It injures the hater more than it injures the hated.__"_

_-Coretta Scott King_

**Chapter Six: Hatred **

With the lights out and nothing but the still night spread over him, Nergal succumbed to the grief. He felt it crawling up his back in the darkness, a choking hold seizing his throat and twisting him about. Coldness seeped into his skin, reaching for his soul and freezing it with its lithe fingers. Never did he want to cry, but sometimes, he relented to it, wrenching the tears out with eyes squeezed shut and keeping sobs in with teeth clenching on lips. It lasted until he finally fell into an uneasy sleep, a sleep throttled by nightmares of little girls and slit throats.

When the sun came up, Nergal compromised his expressions; he neither smiled nor frowned but rather kept his expressions as stoic as possible. The first few months were awkward. Initially, the Hudsons wanted to comfort him, and he wanted no such comfort. He wanted to forget about it while the sun was up; for while it was still light, he was invulnerable. It was only in the cover of darkness that he would show any weakness.

But the Hudsons never came in the night; so, he never had to share the experience with them, and for that, he was grateful. Nergal winced as he thought of them talking behind his back— which he knew they did incessantly. Their whispers annoyed him above all else, causing a surge of ire to pump through his stomach.

The anger was apart of his grief, he reasoned in his calmer hours. The following months had not been so bad, except for the gnawing hole where his heart used to be. Mrs. Hudson claimed he had grown silent over the months, but Nergal never noticed his reticence. But what he never noticed, Aly picked out ten-fold, and as more time went on, the more she pointed them out.

Nergal recalled a fight they had just a week before. It started out innocently enough, but they all began the same way: Aly would bring up a memory and reminisce about how things used to be.

"Do you remember when we used to climb the haystacks over at the Waverly 'Stead." Aly stood in the flower patch, among a group of white blooms, picking petals off a daisy. Nergal sat slumped in a patch of wilting tulips, ignoring her for the most part. Already, he did not like where the conversation was going. "We would hide in the hay and giggle and try not to make a sound. And whoever made the first sound lost." She paused, letting the stem fall to the ground. "I think you need to come out of your haystack."

Nergal snorted. "Are you trying to be philosophical?"

Aly turned her head sharply towards him. He did not have to look up to see her eyes blazing. "I'm trying to help you."

"Well, thanks but no thanks, Aly. I don't need it."

"Yes you do!" Her voice rang out over the heads of the flowers. She stomped next to him, grasping his wrist and heaving him to his feet until he was staring straight on. "We were all saddened by Stella's death, but you need to move on. It's been a year, and look at you. You're turning sixteen in a week. You are a man. You shouldn't be moping and carrying on like this."

"She wasn't your sister, Aly. You wouldn't understand."

Her hand around his wrist squeezed the blood from his veins. "She was like my sister. I still miss her; every time I think of what happened, I'm sad. But Nergal, you have to realize that life is short, and you have to move on. There's a war coming. It's unavoidable. Cherish what you have while you have it."

"And what do I have? You?" It was a horrible remark, and he knew it the second he said it. He saw uncontrolled sadness sweep into her eyes before she released him and fled the flower patch.

Since then, she had barely spoken a word to him, and when she was forced to make contact, she never met his gaze. Once, he tried apologizing, but she locked herself in her room and refused to face him.

Then, his sixteenth birthday came, and no longer was he worrying about silly apologies.

Against his will, Nergal stalked into town to see everyone and receive his birthday blessings. He had never liked this tradition before, but now, it seemed unbearable. He quietly walked down the lane, hoping no one would notice him or remember his birthday, but as it was the first birthday after Stella's death, everyone felt the need to swamp him in the streets.

It was a narrow lane to begin with. The buildings packed close did little to alleviate the situation. It began with Widow Loren shuffling up to him and remarking on how handsome he'd become and ended with twenty people flocking his sides, squeezing his hand and slapping him on the shoulder. The women were more emotional than the men, recalling stories of when he was a little boy and sniffing back memories. The men whispered bawdier ideas into his ear and tossed him around.

Eyes met; unspoken messages passed. Nergal saw their compassion, and it rankled him. He did not need their sentiments.

It was here, in this crowd, that he met Jaffry.

From the moment Jaffry appeared, Nergal knew there was something distinctly different about him. Tall and sinewy, he walked with an idle gait and gave a lazy smile to Nergal as he pushed through the people. Many suns had toned his skin to a dark brown tone, and navy hair, combed by the wind, flapped over his brow. It was his eyes though that caught Nergal's eye: blood red eyes the color of rubies.

"Hello Nergal," he spoke in an accent unknown to Nergal: thick and throaty. At his belt, a lumpy bag bounced on his hip. It appeared heavy, and the way Jaffry's hand rested on it made Nergal think it was valuable. "How about a drink, just me, you, and maybe some of your friends."

"Who are you?" Nergal asked.

"I'm Jaffry, Afa's student."

Afa…Nergal had forgotten completely about him. Afa still remembered to come to this desolate little village on his sixteenth birthday? It was hard to believe, but here was this Jaffry, just as Afa promised.

Jaffry took Nergal's hand and gripped it. "You got a bar round here?"

"Bar…no, I mean yes, but I don't drink."

"How do you survive?"

"What?"

Jaffry stared straight in his eye, sober expression penetrating his. "I mean, how do you survive if you don't drink anything."

Nergal felt his tongue thicken, and flustered, he corrected himself. "Well, I meant I don't drink alcohol. I drink regular stuff like water and sometimes cider and—"

"It was a joke."

"Oh." He felt embarrassed. Here was the great Afa's student, and Nergal had made such a deal over a joke. His cheeks heated up, but Jaffry didn't notice. The man hooked his thumbs over his pockets and stared around the lane.

"Where can we sit, just me and you? There are some things we have to go over before we can leave. You packed yet?"

Nergal shook his head. "Actually, I wasn't expecting you."

"Really? Afa didn't tell you I was coming? Not surprising, the man's so old."

"No, he told me, but it was a long time ago. I thought…" He let the statement die away.

"You thought he forgot," Jaffry said in a somber tone. "When it comes to his students and his work, Afa never forgets." Suddenly, his voice turned lighter, and he added more jokingly, "but when it comes to just about everything else, you can't rely on the old coot."

Nergal marveled at the ease with which Jaffry joked. He would have expected more respect on behalf of the student. "You seem awfully close."

Jaffry shrugged. "I've only lived with the man for a decade or two." His blatant hyperbole set Nergal at unease for some reason. "Or has it been longer? Time flies in the desert." He stuffed his hands into his pockets, turning his head anxiously. "Really, is there any place just the two of us can talk? I need to straighten a couple things out with you."

Most of the crowd around him had dissipated, returning to their usual activities. Mrs. Hudson and Aly—with her back turned to Nergal— were engaged in a conversation with the Fisher wife and her two daughters. Now would be the best time to escape from town, to slip out away from all the fuss.

"Yeah, I know a place, if you're willing to walk."

"I enjoy a good walk."

Nergal wove down the road, Jaffry's long strides making way beside him. Nergal ducked behind the Grove home and situated himself against their old oak tree. It was the same tree he used to swing on as a child, one he would watch as Stella climbed and threatened to jump from its highest limbs.

Jaffry turned an eye over the yard, taking in the blowing lines of laundry and the upturned tub by the side of the house. He seemed to be hesitating, Nergal noted, watching his flitting eyes as his mind sought to say something.

"Nergal, be honest. What do you think about dragons?"

Nergal tensed. The question caught him by surprise, and he hardly knew how to answer. How did he feel about dragons? How did anyone feel about dragons? They were monsters, horrible creatures and yet- "I'm not sure."

"Really? Why aren't you?"

Nergal wanted to know himself. Dragons, he knew how he was supposed to react, but there was no emotion behind it. Horrible monsters, creatures from hell, the enemy to man: why couldn't he feel anything behind those words? He feared them, yes, but what else?

Was it perhaps he knew greater evil—in the form of his mother— than any dragon? Could it be that Stella's death numbed him so much that hate came to him as difficult as love did? No, Nergal decided. It was that it didn't matter anymore. Why bother about those damn dragons when he would die anyways, be it by their flames or by the knife of a very human mercenary.

Nergal summed it up as best he could: "They're about as deplorable as anyone else in this world."

He heard Jaffry sigh. "Tell me Nergal, are all humans such cynics?" Nergal jerked back, hitting the trunk of the tree as he tried to comprehend the strange remark. "So I know several humans, and many of them are nice folks. But if I had to choose a favorite human, it would be my good friend Phillip, and well, he's very pessimistic. Not in the gloomy, depressed, oh-woe-be-me sort of way, like you are, but still a caustic, caustic man. Maybe the only humans Afa likes are like that. You'll find he's not a very social man and—"

When Nergal's tongue freed itself from the roof of his mouth, he sputtered, "Are you human?" It dismayed him how he squeaked at the end, with his voice raspy as he tried to figure out if this was another one of Jaffry's jokes.

Jaffry did not laugh. His face was straight. "What do you think I am?"

"Well, I hope you're human. What else could you be?" Jaffry did not answer, and Nergal went on to ramble. "I mean, I know all sorts of mythological creatures you could be, but I doubt you're an elf or a Sidhe. They don't exist and—" He paused. "Am I overreacting?"

Jaffry shook his head. "Not at all. I'm not a human, I'll tell you that. But I'm no Sidhe either, though I'm flattered you think I'm pretty enough to pass for one."

"Then what are you?"

"I'm a dragon." Jaffry said it bluntly, more bluntly than he intended to. Nergal did not recoil but simply stood there in dull expectation.

"So this _is_ a joke."

"No, I really am a dragon."

Nergal rolled his eyes. "And here I was thinking dragons had scales and claws and sharp teeth," Nergal put out with an acerbic bite. "You know, the size of a mountain; can eat an entire village without chewing."

Jaffry laughed, a full-bodied rumble. "I always love hearing humans go on about dragons." His eyes flashed. "You ought to hear what some of my kind says about yours. But I'm not lying."

"Well, until you breathe fire, I don't believe you."

Jaffry looked around. "I can prove it to you," he said. "Take me somewhere out of town, where no one will see us."

"You're really going to breathe fire?"

"No, but I think I can convince you."

The autumn chill swelled around Nergal as he led Jaffry out of town and into the countryside. He followed no path, relying on blind wanderings until the houses were out of sight and only the browning grass rustled in their presence.

Jaffry appeared nervous, and Nergal waited for him to slip up, to admit his game and give in. Jaffry fingered the pouch at his waist, finally untying it and unraveling it in his hands.

An opaque crystal weighed down his palm, and almost immediately, Nergal felt a strange energy radiating from its core. He reached out to touch it, but Jaffry yanked it back, cradling it in his arms.

"I don't like other people touching it," he told Nergal.

"What is it?"

"It's my dragon stone. It's what enables me to be in human form. They're one of Afa's great inventions. Only a few exist. It's still in its testing stages, but it's truly a wonder, ain't it?" He stroked the surface. "Not a good idea to let it out of our sight." He smiled fondly. "Timoras and Emese once stole mine and—" He cut off and shook his head. "Sorry, that's another story. Anyways, your demonstration."

Jaffry walked backwards for several paces, halting at what he deemed a safe distance away from Nergal, with the sun at his back. Nergal squinted through the rays and saw Jaffry place his hand on the stone. The stone illuminated with a white light that snaked up Jaffry's arm and tangled his body in a web of radiance. The light grew stronger, until Nergal had to look away, and even with his head turned and his eyes shut, the intensity penetrated his eyes.

The ground shook, or so it seemed. The area of light grew and grew, completely consuming Jaffry's body and the plains around him. Until, suddenly, the light was gone. Nergal wiped the water from his eyes, and before he could see straight, he noticed the presence of a behemoth, blocking the sun and casting a shadow over the land.

Nergal's heart jumped and snared in his throat. Jaffry had not been lying, and if he had been, then this was one elaborate joke. The dragon in front of Nergal stood taller than any of the shacks in town, save maybe for the bell tower above the Church. His scales glinted with a dark blue sheen. A line of dull spikes ran along the ridge of his back, and his tail twitched against the flattened grass.

His eyes, still red, remained the same, teasing and joking as he parted his lips to reveal a line of serrated, white teeth. Nergal stepped back in panic, and Jaffry let out a raspy bark, which resembled a laugh, before reverting to his human state in another flash of light.

Giving a very human laugh this time, he approached Nergal, who appeared dumbfounded and frozen. Jaffry slapped a hand on his shoulder but was surprised when Nergal buckled under him, collapsing to the ground in a faint.

Nergal's eyes opened, still glazed over as the sky danced above his head and settled. His head hurt from hitting the ground, and his legs still felt weak, but he was able to pull himself up and look around. Jaffry stood, watching him, just a few feet away.

With his hands, Nergal scrambled backwards; Jaffry made no attempt to pull him back. Instead, he sat on the grass, patting the space next to him.

"Come here, Nergal. We need to talk," he said gently.

"What madness is this?" Nergal demanded, finding his voice within his confused soul. "Dragon or human, what the hell are you?"

"I already told you: dragon."

"Why would you want to be a human then? Dragons hate humans."

Jaffry sighed. "We need to talk." When he noticed Nergal had not budged from his spot, he gave up on trying to bring him closer. Instead, he sought a way to put him at ease. He took the dragon stone off his belt and proffered it to Nergal. "Take it. So long as you have this, I cannot change into a dragon, and you will be safe. Just be careful with it, all right?" Nergal held back, but as the logic of the idea came to him, he leaned forward only so much that he could take it from Jaffry's hands.

It was heavier than he anticipated, and he had to use both arms to cradle it. Energy emanated from it, beating in step with his heart. Magic. A strange chill washed over Nergal. Magic. The Devil's Practice. Never before had he come so close to it.

His arms jerked away, and the stone almost fell from his grasp, but he remembered Jaffry's words. With it in his possession, Jaffry could not change into his dragon form and kill Nergal, but Nergal was exposed to its questionable properties. Without it, there was no guarantee Jaffry wouldn't turn on him. Nergal placed the dragon stone in his lap, so that it balanced on his legs but did not lean against his torso.

"Better?" Jaffry asked, and Nergal nodded. "Nergal, I'm going to tell you something about dragons. We're very much like humans. More than anyone wants to admit. There are some out there that are so convinced that feeling emotions is a human attribute and that it is a weakness dragons mustn't have. So they become shells, devoid of anything, because they loathe humans so. And in a sense it becomes another weakness, because they do feel an emotion, and that emotion is hate.

"If emotions are a human weakness, then I don't mind having a human weakness.

I'd rather admit it and become strong because of it then pretend it doesn't exist because I want to be unlike someone else. I struggled with this my entire life; I wanted to be a good dragon, more than anything. I wanted to hate humans; I wanted to please my kin. But I couldn't, and every time I tried, I felt myself die inside, and eventually, I couldn't take it any longer. I left. I wandered the skies and avoided humans and dragons alike, because the more I saw each, the less I could tell the difference between the two.

"Both species are burdened down so much by hate that they cannot see clearly. Both think they are superior; both think the other is inherently evil. There is no superior among the two. Not a civilized creature among the two. And then I met Afa, a bumbling eccentric, and I knew I found someone better than any human or dragon. He brought me to Arcadia, a place where dragons and humans lived without chaos, and I knew that those people were the best bunch in all Elibe. The only conflicts are ordinary feuds between neighbors. I fell in love with the place.

"I'm not the only one with such a story. Timoras is a dragon who simply liked to rebel. Emese's brothers shunned her when they learned she was studying human magic. And Phillip, a human, had a sister who died a hateful woman, but pleaded with him to raise her son so he would not have to live such an intolerable life.

"With Afa as the head, these people have formed my family. And we want you to be apart of it, Nergal. We know it won't be easy for you to accept us as a new family, but Afa saw you. He saw a mind open to the world but one cloistered by his surroundings. This small town with its prejudices, do you think one such as you can grow here?"

He paused so Nergal could speak. So absorbed by Jaffry's words, Nergal did not notice at first, but he tried to find an answer. None came to him. And eventually, he reverted to the one thing that preoccupied his mind.

"Magic and dragons and hate: what are these? Magic is the Devil's work. You can't expect me to take part in this blasphemy."

"And here I am, wondering how Afa saw you as open-minded," Jaffry retorted. "Tell me Nergal, who do you hate the most? Is it we dragons? And why do you hate us?"

"Quiet! You have no idea who I hate the most. I can tell you I have far better things to hate than dragons!"

"What is it then? Magic? You hate magic and those who dabble in it because you don't want to go to hell by association?"

Nergal felt his face go red. His grip on the dragon stone deepened. Realizing the stone was still in Nergal's possession, Jaffry's eyes widened and his raised his guard, throwing back his shoulders and losing the aggression on his face, though his aura still bristled with it.

Nergal trembled in his indignation. "I don't hate magic. I don't hate dragons. I fear magic, because magic corrupts people and can do horrible things. I fear dragons because of what they do to humans— and you cannot deny what they do. Hating is very different." Nergal's control slipped; his voice came out as a ferocious hiss. His antagonism enveloped him in heat. "_Don't _mistake me for yourself. I am not so preoccupied with hate. I worry for my own mortality because I know how easy it is to lose it. And if you really must know, the person I hate the most is my own mother because she left her daughter to die and her son to pick up the pieces. Ooh, big surprise there. I hate a human and not a dragon."

Nergal finished as he panted for breath. Gasps left him noisily, but he focused on his ire and not his lungs. Jaffry returned to his patronizing state, speaking in gentler tones that annoyed Nergal to no end.

"Your sister died?" Nergal swallowed and nodded. "Was it magic that killed her?"

Nergal shook his head. "Swords."

"And your mother?"

"She ran off because of my father's debt."

"Magic, if used wrong, can corrupt and do horrible things, but as you experienced, Nergal, so can steel and gold," Jaffry spoke in steadied monotone.

Nergal found his wrath dissipating as the truth of Jaffry's words sank into him. Stella died, not of the evils his mother preached but because of his mother's fears. Still, magic: it sounded so unfamiliar, so dangerous.

"It is all right to fear the unknown," Jaffry said, "but once you can see in the dark, it doesn't seen so bad after all."

"What are you saying?"

"Come with me, to Arcadia. Stay there for a month and then make up your mind. Afa won't force you to stay there if you don't want to, and if you find yourself conflicted, I'll bring you back."

"Nabata's awfully far to go for just a month," Nergal said. "Unless…you're going to use magic to get there and back." He faced Jaffry for the first time, meeting those strange crimson eyes. "Are you?" Jaffry smirked, and that was answer enough. "Can I have a night to think about it?"

"Of course." Jaffry stood and approached Nergal, who handed him back the dragon stone. As he attached it to his belt, he told Nergal, "I'm staying in the town's inn. Come get me when you're ready."

--

Nergal did not sleep that night. Rather, he stared at the dark rafters as he tried to ponder his fate. One month. That did not seem so bad. One month, and if the evils were truly that insufferable, he had the rest of his life to repent for it. It would work out…right?

The silence did nothing to help him think. Outside, he heard a frog bellow and the wind rustle through the tree outside his window periodically, but all made him squirm as the stillness affected him.

Nabata was very far away. Stella's grave was here, and if he chose to go to Nabata, if he chose to stay there for all eternity, would he ever see her grave again? Then again, Jaffry used magic to travel. If Nergal—and the thought made him shudder— decided to learn magic, perhaps he could use the same technique to come back and visit Stella's grave. Yes, yes, that would work out nicely.

But there was still the issue of magic! Could Nergal drop the beliefs that had been imbued in him since childhood? His mother always taught him—his mother, that despicable woman. What did she know? Her priorities were so screwed, how could Nergal take her word for anything?

Even considering that, magic left Nergal cold. Perhaps Jaffry was right, though. Perhaps Nergal needed an open mind; he needed to experience it. This did not console him much, but it gave him something to rely on. He remembered the pulses of the dragon stone; he remembered at first his curiosity. He did want to know more, even if magic was a vile science. Perhaps, in his studies, he would find how to protect people against magic or why it truly should be avoided.

Hesitations remained, but Nergal's excitement joined them. Yes, yes. Before he could change his mind, Nergal slipped out of bed and gathered his things together, packing them in his trunk. Clothes, his extra pair of boots, what little money he had: all went into the trunk. He took the tulle veil Stella wore at the fall festival, letting his eyes linger over it for a minute before folding it and placing it with his shirts.

He heaved the trunk in his arms and waddled out. He passed Aly's door and paused. On the other side, he knew she was sleeping. Setting down the trunk with nary a sound, he went up, knocked, and waited. He knocked again when she did not answer; the floor creaked, followed by the opening of the door.

"What do you want?" she asked, groggy and snappy.

"I'm going now, Aly. I'm going before I can change my mind, and I don't know if I'll ever be back. I might be, but just in case, I want to say I'm sorry. I don't want you to be mad at me forever."

Aly's bleariness disappeared. "What? Where are you going?"

"To Nabata." Aly gasped, and tears glistened in her eyes.

"But…how?" Nergal embraced Aly, weaving his arms around her, letting her lean on his shoulder. "You have to say goodbye to my parents."

"I can't. You tell them for me. I have to go now, before anything can change my mind. But Aly, promise me, you'll visit Stella's grave for me and tell her how much I miss her." She nodded. "Don't let her be forgotten."

"Of course not."

Nergal looked at her grieved figure. Rivulets of tears dripped down her from her reddened eyes, and he could feel her quiver against him. Tilting his head down, he kissed her softly on the lips. He felt his body go warm, and she let out a tiny gasp. "Goodbye, Aly."

--

Jaffry leaned against the inn posts casually, arms crossed and knees bent. He looked up as Nergal approached with a smile. "Ready?" Nergal nodded, ignoring the doubts that racked his body. "Good."

----

Author's Note: Extra love goes to those that can pick out the Scottish mythology reference, and even more love to those that can pronounce it correctly. ;) This chapter was a toughie because it's a really a transition chapter, and there were a lot of things I had to set up just right. It's also one of those chapters I had to completely rewrite before I was happy with it. Reviews, as always, are loved! Thanks for reading! And thanks to JSB for betaing!


	7. Arcadia

"_I have a fond place in my heart for Arcadia and always will."_

_-Jim McLaughlin_

**Chapter Seven: Arcadia**

Tendrils of light grasped Nergal's body; it was the only thing he could comprehend before the spinning sensation played at his stomach with a nauseating touch. When the light faded, all remained a blur, and Nergal stumbled forward clutching his side. Jaffry grabbed him and held him as Nergal regained his balance.

Bile bubbled in his stomach, and for one dizzying second, Nergal thought he would vomit over the threshold of the great city. Luckily, the sensation died down, and his eyes focused on the ground. Standing straight and free of Jaffry's hold, Nergal glanced up at the city, awash in dusky lights. Shadows enveloped buildings, giving the whole place an ominous feel.

Nergal's first steps in Arcadia shuddered with anxiety. It was all too much to take in at once. He always heard the deserts were hot, arid places, but now a chill permeated the air. Arcadia was positioned near a water source, an oasis as Jaffry called it, but still, sand was everywhere, blowing past his face, scratching his skin, sneaking under his fingernails.

Cracked brick paved the roads, flooded by the light of the stars. Sand bricks formed the buildings, square structures with wide, colorful awnings that hung over the streets. All the marketplace shops were outside, but during the night all activity had died, and most of the vendors were packing their wares.

It was here that Nergal gained his second sight of a dragon, and not a dragon in human form but an actual, scaly dragon. It was by a house, his (or her?) head resting on the roof with lazy black eyes watching the streets. Scarlet scales gleamed in the moonlight, as did claws of ebony. It would have appeared fearsome, if it were not for the dull expression on its face.

The dragon appeared both stunningly like Jaffry yet different at the same time. The ridges that ran along the back were relaxed, as was its expression. With every breath, the nostrils flared and a rustling reached Nergal's ears. He wanted to go and touch it, like he had touched the wyvern. He had realized his feet begin to shuffle towards it until Jaffry spoke.

"That's Liss." He talked as if it were nothing; Nergal then remembered that in Arcadia it probably was nothing. "She's a landlady of some of the places here. Nice lady if you can pay your rent on time." He jerked Nergal away. "But it isn't nice to stare." With a firm grip on Nergal, he walked down the street, turning down a side street, and traipsing down a backstreet.

He stopped at a door with a sign above it reading "The Desert Mermaid". Through the walls, muted music and noise drifted, and once Jaffry opened the door, a burst of sound assaulted Nergal. It was a dim bar, with vivid paper lanterns hanging in the corners. When he walked in Nergal, saw that there was a stage with three musicians— a fiddle player, a flutist, and a person playing a strange sort of harp that sat in his lap, propped up against his chest—, and in front of the stage, an area was clear for the dancers. A few women and their partners were dancing to the current jig.

Nergal only saw a few tables, but Jaffry was walking to one of them with a broad smile on his face.

"Timoras, Phillip, come meet the new addition!" he bellowed. Nergal followed him and saw two men perk up. It was difficult for him to make out their features in the tenebrous room. "Nergal, this is Timoras," Jaffry pointed to a shorter man dressed in black, "and this is Phillip," this man was stockier with longer hair. "Brothers, this is Nergal."

"Nergal!" Timoras bellowed. "Good to meet you at last! The old man was quivering with excitement at finally having a human apprentice. And I'm not exaggerating either." He gestured to a chair next to him, which Nergal took. "You're sixteen? Wouldn't guess it myself." He took a hold of his mug and took a gulp with an overdramatic swig. "I'm glad Jaffry listened to us and brought you here first before introducing you to the old man."

"I've heard much about you," Nergal said, feeling too silent for the moment.

"Really? And what has Jaffry told you? Given you the proper warnings I hope." Timoras leaned close. "Stay away from the one they call Emese. She's a nasty little one, I tell you."

Timoras' head jerked back. Nergal looked up and saw a girl had a firm hold on his hair. She was glowering at Timoras, who gave a chuckle.

"Ah, Emese. Didn't see you there," he said.

"Sure," she said, releasing him. He rubbed the back of his head. "So, why wasn't I invited to meet Nergal?"

"Only right that we give him a proper initiation," Timoras said. "Can't do that with a lady around."

Jaffry had yet to sit down, and before he could, Emese swiped his chair. "Don't listen to a word they say. They'll make me out to be some horrid witch."

"Let's look at the facts, little sister," Jaffry said, pulling up a chair from another table. "You use magic. You're a girl. You threaten to turn Timoras into a toad sometimes."

"Only when he says he'll chop off my hair when I'm sleeping." Nergal saw her hand feel the back of her bun; she had pale lavender hair coiled behind her head.

"Looks like a witch to me," Timoras said, with another sip. "But I suppose we can have you around. Won't be nearly as much fun though. Want a drink, Nergal?"

"No thank you." He looked around the bar. He now realized just how the high the ceiling reached; though laced with lanterns, it was hard to distinguish in the mostly dim surroundings. "So are you all Afa's apprentices?"

"No," Phillip answered immediately. He was the only human among them, Nergal remembered, and had a deep timbre for a voice. "Only Jaffry and Emese. I manage the stables."

"With horses?"

"Horses can't move in the desert sands too well," Phillip said. He sounded almost disdainful. "There are a few though. Specially bred for the sands. Two wyverns but those are off-limits to any one except me and my assistant. We keep goats in an outside pen."

Timoras shifted around in his seat until Phillip finished before delving into his responsibilities. "I am in charge of all the dirty work in Arcadia. I spy, I steal, and I save the people from anybody trying to destroy this haven. It's a very important job. Sometimes Jaffry begs to come along, and I let him."

Jaffry snorted into his drink. "Beg you? I believe it is you that begs me. You need someone who can actually fight."

"What? Are you saying I can't fight?"

"I'm saying you can't fight well."

"You think that because you can use animal magic—"

"_Anima."_

"—you're so much more powerful than the rest of us. Well, I hate to douse your fire, but I've got more hits than you. I think that speaks for itself."

Nergal flinched. Their exchange was fierce, and he was afraid a brawl would break out. Being inside a bar was an entirely new experience, but he had often heard Aly's brother and the Waverly boys talk about the various frays they had started up in dingy places like this.

"Stop it you two," Emese chided them. She lowered her voice. "You're scaring him." Emese stood, straightening her skirt, and stepped behind Nergal's chair. "Do you like to dance, Nergal?"

"I love to, but I haven't in a while." Since the Fall Festival to be exact.

"Well, then. I'll take great joy in claiming your first dance." She tugged him to his feet as a quick paced song started up. Entwining her fingers into his, she dragged him out to the dance floor.

"Know this song?" she asked him, and he shook his head. "Don't worry. The dance is easy enough to pick up on." In and out they bobbed from each other, and to Nergal's good fortune, the foot patterns, though they appeared complex, consisted of only three repeated steps.

"Don't you mind those boys," she told him. "They're very competitive, but it's all in good humor. Except for Phillip. He doesn't have a sense of humor." When they came near, she said in his ear, "I'm very curious to see which type of magic you'll be proficient in."

"Types of magic?" They stepped from each other.

"Yes. There are three types of magic. Anima, light, and Elder." She passed him now, twirling in her step. "Jaffry is best in anima, but I'm good in Elder magic. Many people blather on about how Elder magic is evil and horrible, but once you study it, you find it's nothing of the sort." Once again, she was close enough to say his ear, almost unsettling. "I think you're perfect for Elder magic. I could sense it when I first saw you." She giggled as they parted. "I've been waiting for a long time for someone who can discuss proper Elder magic. Someone besides Afa."

Evil. Horrible. It did not resonate well with Nergal, who gulped as he tried to find as neutral an answer as possible. "We'll see."

--

The quartet of siblings took him down the roads of Arcadia, through the streets, and though it was late at night, Timoras still bellowed and Emese's giggles bounced off the buildings. Both Timoras and Jaffry politely offered to carry Nergal's luggage, and Timoras won the honor, hoisting it up on his shoulders as he strut down the lane.

Afa's house was the grandest, befitting the founder quite well. It was of immense size, built of rock, and Nergal wondered how it stood in the sifting sands. The architectural style, Nergal recognized from his books, seemed similar to the designs of the Far West. It suddenly occurred to Nergal that the Far West was not so far any more.

They trudged up the steps. Jaffry opened one of the two double doors leading in, and they walked by him.

"Old man!" Timoras screamed. His voice echoed off the stones and thrashed around. "We got the kid!"

"I can see that, Timothy." From the side, barely a shadow in the unlit front hall, stepped out a man. Afa. His appearance had not changed from the last time Nergal saw him. "Hello again, Nergal. I hope they didn't get you drunk before coming here." He swiftly approached Nergal and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We tried," Timoras said, "but to no avail."

"I've got to leave," Phillip said, turning his back on them before the proper greetings could commence. "I've got to make sure Denning didn't burn the stables down."

"Goodnight, Phil," Afa said as the horseman slunk out of the door. "Timothy, off with you too. This is just for my apprentices. I must introduce Nergal properly to the building."

Dropping Nergal's trunk, Timoras left, slamming the door behind him, but not without a rowdy "G'night!" Jaffry picked up Nergal's things before he could.

Jaffry moved and whispered something in Afa's ear, but the old man swatted him. "It's not the time for that, Jeffery." The shadow that was Afa shifted, and a second later, a flame spurted to life on an oil lamp in his hands. It illuminated every crevice between every wrinkle, shrouding much of his face in shadow while reflecting the other parts with a hollow radiance. He held it up to Nergal's face. "You look tired, boy."

"I am, a bit," he admitted, flinching under the gaze.

"Well, then, we'll make the tour short." His back turned to Nergal, and Afa shuffled down the hall. "The first door here is the kitchen and the pantry, dining room is next door to it. I have a housekeeper, Hattie, and she cooks. Except on Tuesdays; we let her take a break and give Emese the responsibility."

From behind Nergal, Jaffry said, "or you can just come with me to the Mermaid every Tuesday." Nergal thought he heard Emese kick him or at least a "ow" come from the man-dragon.

Across from the kitchen, Afa pointed to another door, this one slightly ajar. "This is my library. Be sure to always put back your books and exactly where you found them." Moving down further, he came to a curve. "Down there are the stairs to the cellar. You are not to enter the cellar without my permission. That is where I perform my experiments, and I don't want anything moved around. Over here," he pointed to the last door at the end of the hallway, before a set of stairs that wound up, "is the study room. This is where you shall conduct your studies."

Afa took the first step up the stairs, then paused, turning to Nergal. "Up here are the living quarters and the wash room." The stairs, wrought of metal, curved upwards in a narrow path. Nergal gripped the banister as he ascended.

Once they all reached the top, Afa listed off the bedrooms. "Mine, Jeffery's, Emma's, and this one is where you will stay. With a fourth resident, we are out of a guest bedroom, but guests are such trouble, so we don't mind. There's a closet in the wash room, just down there, with bedding and a mop. You are responsible for keeping your own room clean."

Nergal tested the knob of his bedroom door and peeked inside. Jaffry nudged him forward, entering the room and dropping Nergal's trunk. Emese came in behind them, taking the liberty of stealing Afa's lamp and lighting the way.

"Cozy?" she asked, spreading the flame from the one wick to the lamp on the bedside table.

The bed itself was nicely made, appearing thicker than his mattress back in his cottage, all that time ago. The room had a chest at the foot of the bed, a desk under the window, and a few shelves built into the walls, empty and dust ridden. The air here smelled stale.

The floor creaked as Afa stepped in. He placed a hand on an empty shelf, running his fingers along the surface and collecting dust. "Needs a bit of work. I'm giving you a few days to rest; you can get acquainted with your surroundings. Now, then, Emese will explain anything else. I am an old man; I need my sleep. Jaffry, you wanted to tell me something."

Jaffry nodded as he followed Afa out of the room. Nergal had an idea of what he wanted to explain: his pupil might not be staying forever.

Emese twirled on the floorboards. "It really isn't fair to let you air this catacomb out alone. We can work on it together. Soon, it'll be just like home." Nergal felt a lump grow in the back of his throat; he did not want to tell her that he might only stay here a month.

Nergal wondered how she was so cheerful, as she was involved with "dark" magic. She hummed one of the songs that had played at the Desert Mermaid with a thoughtful expression, crossing the room to peer out the drapes. He remembered the family structure of this place; could this Emese really ever replace Stella as his sister?

The answer came quickly. _No. _

Nergal sat on the edge of his bed and picked up the clock from the nightstand. It felt cool in his hands and ticked away. Reading the face, it found it was only nearing ten 'o clock. When he left the Hudsons, it was well over midnight.

"I think this clock is wrong," he stated. Emese came over and glanced at it over his shoulder.

"Nope. It's right." She paused. "Where are you from, anyhow?"

"East. Far east. By the Wyvern Crags."

"Oh, that explains it. There's a bit of a time difference. A couple hours. When traveling such distances by magic, it can be hard to get used to." She flopped on his bed, so her head rested on her arms by his lap, looking up at him with wide eyes. Despite the time difference, Nergal felt too wired to fall asleep; so he did not mind when her questions began. "Tell me about yourself."

"Like what?"

"Like…what is your favorite thing to do?"

"Well, I read a lot. And, I like dancing, when there's something to dance to."

Emese grinned. "You're in good company. And by the looks of it, you're pretty good at it. Timoras and Jaffry, oh dear, they're awful. My clan was very involved with dancing; it was a core part of our ceremonies. But those two never heard a bit of music before coming to Arcadia, and they think they're just wonderful at it. Phillip's pretty good though. Whenever I have to choose, I go with Phillip." She raised her head on a fist. "So what else? You got any family back in the mountains."

Nergal shook his head, not bothering with corrections about where exactly he lived. "My father died a couple years ago, and my sister…died too a year back. My mother, I haven't seen her since."

Emese's face conformed to that typical sympathy that Nergal loathed, and her voice drew out softly, "oh, I'm so sorry."

Nergal shook his head. "Don't. Anyways, tell me about yourself." Nergal found the change of subject relieving, and Emese gladly went along with it.

"I'm from the Desert myself. Came to Arcadia…seven years ago? Not important. My brother Hashmè was a leader of the clan, and my other brother, Coremn, was the head priest. So I find some spell books off a dead human one day, and it doesn't cross my mind that human magic is forbidden; so, I take the stuff and start reading it and am vastly interested. The brothers didn't take it so well, and there was a huge scandal and I was exiled." She blew away a hair from her forehead. "Big deal. Don't get me wrong; I was very depressed over it at the time, but it was all for the best. You won't believe how constricting the community was."

It sounded like a fairy tale to Nergal. Dragons were not supposed to have priests, nor even leaders. They were not supposed to be that civilized.

They were not supposed to turn into humans. They were not supposed to be able to use magic. They were not supposed to be so nice to him. Nergal's mind went dizzy; all his preconceptions shattered within a day, and yet he found himself trying to keep some of them with him. Generalizations, he realized, were nice to keep around when life grew difficult.

"You look tired," Emese said, rolling off the bed. "I'll let you get some sleep." She left the room, and Nergal became alone.

He dressed for bed but did not climb under the covers. Lying back against the pillows, he watched the flicker of the candle until he succumbed to his exhaustion.

When Nergal woke, his back was stiff and his eyes took time to adjust to the room. During the night, the candle burned down to a stub, and only a lump of wax and a curled black wick remained. He still lay on top of the covers, and with the drapes closed, the darkness remained. Bits of light crept in where the curtains touched the floor, telling him it was morning. Sounds outside revealed that others were awake and bustling.

Even without the blankets, Nergal felt drenched in a thin layer of sweat. The desert heat seeped in through the cracks of the building, baking him in this rock oven. He found that when his feet touched the ground, the stones that formed the floor were cool, and he delighted in the feel of them against his bare soles.

He walked to the window, shoving aside the curtains. The sunlight attacked him, bright and fierce. When he turned away, blindly groping for the bed, black dots appeared across his vision. Desert nights were nippy and dark, but Nergal discovered that no book exaggerated about the heat of the desert.

He dressed, pulling on a fresh pair of trousers and tucking in his old cotton shirt. Pushing his pant legs into his boots, he glanced over at the clock. It shocked Nergal to find out it was well after ten in the morning. He had slept so late! Never before could he remember sleeping in so long!

So surprised by the late time, he stumbled out into the hall, expecting to see some living being—human or dragon— but found it empty and still. He tried knocking at Jaffry's door, then Emese's, but he did not want to walk up to Afa's. Forgetting that Afa promised the day of rest, he flew down the stairs, missing a step and nearly tumbling down the entire flight.

Some sounds came from the kitchen, humming and the scrape of pans. Nergal followed the noise, knocking lightly on the door as he opened it. A woman stood over a stove, her back turned to him. All he made out of her was her white bonnet and the strings that tied an apron around her waist. He cleared his throat, and she turned, lifting an eyebrow.

Nergal's throat stuck together. "Oh, excuse me. I'm—"

"The new boy," the woman said, with a hint of disdain. She was a tan woman with cheeks reddened by the steam of the stove. Curls of blond fell out of her bonnet around her face. The way her face sagged, Nergal figured she was older, but some vitality remained in her by the way her spoon twirled around the boiling pot. "You did not eat this morning. Sleeping, I bet."

"Yes, ma'am."

Her hip jut out, and she balanced a hand on it, spoon sticking awkwardly out. "It is your first night. It is forgivable, I suppose." She pointed her spoon to the table. "I will get you something to eat."

Nergal took a seat on a chair that tilted too far to the left. The steam of the kitchen collected into sweat on his brow. This kitchen had one window, cracked open, but unlike at home, it brought no sweet wind to calm the temperature of food.

"What is your name?" the cook asked him.

"Nergal."

"I'm Hattie," she said as she hustled around the kitchen. "I work as Master Afa's housekeeper. That does not make me your servant. I take care of only what the old man is too busy to do himself. Don't bother me unless it's important. I have much to do in the course of a day." She set a plate in front of Nergal. "I leave by dark. I got youngin's at home that I have to feed, so I serve supper early."

"Understood."

She dished him a pale pancake, browned around the edges. As she handed him a fork, her tone lowered. "You're a meek one, aren't you?" Nergal took his first taste, finding it limp and still slightly warm, and swallowed with a sort of half-shrug, half-nod. "I mean, you're no smart aleck like that Jaffry, and Emese, bless her soul, she's a sweetheart. You don't seem to talk much."

"No, I'm just…well, I'm still very confused." It was as honest an answer as he knew. Hattie seemed to understand.

Pursing her lips, she asked, "Where you from, boy? You're human, right?" Nergal nodded.

"I come from the east. By the Wyvern Crags."

Hattie's eyes widened. "We get some folks from all around the place, but that's pretty isolated. Don't think I've met more than a few people from that area. Must be a big change for you."

Nergal conceded. "I don't know yet if this is for me."

"You never know. The world's a funny like that. This place here might be your destiny, if you give it a chance."

"Is this your destiny?"

Hattie laughed. "Hell no. Getting born to a couple of folks here in the middle of the desert isn't destiny; that's luck of the draw. Being chosen by Master Afa, brought halfway cross the world: that's something more powerful than any luck. It can only be destiny." She picked up his plate.

"It was delicious, thank you," Nergal said, and she gave an odd look.

"Don't tell me you're done. You haven't had enough to eat yet."

Nergal shook his head. "No, really, I'm full."

"Look at you. Skin and bones!" She took the pan from the stove and emptied it on his plate.

"I—"

"You eat like a scarecrow. I'll be damned if I let Master Afa's new student starve on his first day." Nergal relented and ate what she gave him. He liked Hattie: she was stern but a motherly woman he knew he would come to appreciate. She set another, lopsided pancake in front of him, and he ate it, more slowly this time.

"Do you like it here?" he asked her after his first swallow.

She shrugged. "As well as any." She drew out a chopping board from a rack, setting it on the table opposite Nergal. Taking out a handful of carrots, she poised a sharp knife over the board and began dicing the vegetables. Nergal watched her, entranced by the rhythmic chop.

"Do you have family in the east, Nergal?"

Nergal jerked out of his daydream. It dismayed him how it hurt to answer "no, ma'am."

"All for the better." She carried no sympathy in her voice, and her words sparked indignation in Nergal. How could being without a family possibly be for the better? As Nergal bristled, she clarified. "You got nothing to look back at. That leaves you able to seek a clear future. You said yourself you're confused, but if this isn't your place, then what is?"

Nergal stared down at the half-eaten pancake, the food sticking in his throat. "I have friends back home."

"Nergal, you can't possibly believe that the life of an orphan is the life for you. That ain't the life for anyone. You can make something of nothing if you let yourself." She stopped chopping, sweeping the orange pieces to the side and collecting them in a cupped palm. Walking over to the pot over the fire, she dumped the hand full, dusting her fingers for any sticking remains. "You said you were confused. Well, Nergal, I see this as your opportunity. Don't waste it, boy. You'll be regretting it for the rest of your life."

Nergal stood and back away from his chair. "It was delicious, thank you, but I have to find Afa now."

Taking a new carrot on the board, Hattie did not face him, but he heard her clucking under her tongue. "So be it. Skedaddle then, fore he gets worried."

Nergal stumbled out of the kitchen, the steam gone and the warmth replaced by a dryer atmosphere. Turning towards the broad doors, Nergal saw someone step in. It was neither Jaffry nor Emese, but the man lacked the stocky figure of Phillip. It was Timoras then.

Timoras waved at Nergal as Nergal got his first real look at the man. He had a rounder figure and was shorter than the other men—this Nergal knew from the night before—but in the daylight, his profuse hair captured prominence, and his oblong, pockmarked face became more distinguishable. His complexion was rougher than Jaffry's, darker too.

"Nergal." Within seconds, Timoras was standing in front of Nergal. "And how are you?"

"Fine."

"Good. You seen the old man around?" Nergal shook his head. "Well, I was going to ask him if I could show you around for the day, but I think I'll just steal you instead. Looking for him can be drag, and since you're right here, I rather not bother."

"A-all right."

Timoras grinned. "No need to be so shy." Timoras patted Nergal's back before slinging an arm around his shoulders, leading him to the front doors. Kicking them open with bravado, Timoras reveled in the desert air as though it were a beautiful landscape.

But it wasn't. Not in Nergal's mind. Almost immediately, his eyes hurt from the bright light, and the sun scorched his skin on contact. Never had Nergal felt such heat. This seemed to be nothing like an oasis. Sand built up around the edifices, and only weak tufts of vegetation ever showed, spread far apart.

Staring down the brick-paved street, Nergal could see how the houses were built to shade the streets, but Timoras did not lead him that way. Instead, he pulled him off the street, trudging to a place by the side of Afa's home. An open structure, roughly rectangular, appeared, fluctuating in the heat. As they approached, Nergal recognized it as a stable.

The shade inside the stable only alleviated the sun's rays, but Nergal was glad to be under the eaves. At first, he thought the place empty, save for the animals it housed, and over Timoras' yelling, he could hear snorting and stomping from the corrals.

"Phillip!" Timoras' voice earned them an annoyed whiney, and he continued until a boy, no more than nine or ten, scuttled up to them. He mumbled something before fixing his gaze on Nergal and holding it there.

Only one eye rested on Nergal; the other lazily stared off to the right. His brown hair fell limp around his forehead in greasy strands, and his face held a quivering expression. Nergal bent down and offered his hand to shake, but the boy recoiled, stumbling backwards with a stifled moan.

"He's scared of strangers," Timoras said. Donning a coaxing strain, he cooed to the boy, "can you get Uncle Phillip for us?"

The boy swiveled to face Timoras. His mouth opened, lips trembling. "Not here." It was half-squeak, half-whimper. Without any further incitement, the boy shook his head fiercely, his hair whipping around his forehead. "Nope. Nope."

Timoras kneeled down next to the boy, smiling and speaking in painfully slow voice. "That's all right, Denning. If you see him, can you tell him Uncle Timoras was here?" The boy—Denning—turned his face to look at Timoras', but his eyes turned blank and lips parted with no guarantee. Timoras stood and jerked his head to the entrance. When they were once again surrounded by the blinding desert sun, Timoras explained in a quick whisper, "the boy's a bit simple."

Nergal nodded, changing the subject. "So, where's Afa?"

Timoras shrugged. "At this time of day? Who knows? Could be exploding things in his basement or having tea half-way across the continent. No matter what he's doing, he'll be back in time for dinner. Always is."

"Well, I'd like to find him. I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to be doing."

Timoras snorted. "Take the day off!"

"Off from what? I haven't begun anything."

"Then stop while you're ahead. Afa won't notice if you're there or not. It'll be a full week before he remembers that you're living with him, and even then, he likes to carry out his own 'personal' experiments."

Nergal barely noticed the buildings rising around them as they strolled into the main center of town. Now, the bustle overwhelmed him as he kept bumping into pedestrians. Hawkers shouted above the din about their wares: exotic fruits, rare trinkets, the finest cloth, and the sturdiest metal goods, smuggled in from Etruria.

Though Nergal walked with longer strides, Timoras bounded ahead in the crowd, his bright head dipping between shoppers. Nergal had to push and struggle to reach his side, only to lose him once again. Timoras suddenly took a turn down a corner, and the traffic diminished some though remained steady.

"Where are we going?" Nergal asked.

"I'm showing you about."

"Really?" Nergal had not noticed Timoras pointing any thing out or mentioning anything that would hint at this being a tour.

"Yeah. That back there was the market." Timoras jerked a thumb backwards. "Unless you have a death wish, never go there with Emese. You will find absolutely nothing useful there, except for bruises from bumping, shoving, foot tromping, and trampling." His hands lifted to encompass the lane they strolled down. "This is the beauty of Arcadia. Like all cities, there are gems hiding all over the place that you will never find if you stick to the main path." His arms dropped as he turned philosophical. "Life's like that too, you know."

His comment caught Nergal unawares. "Huh?"

Timoras' face lost the gleam of mischief as his smile slipped away. "Everyone walks a road in life, and if they stick to the market place, they'll find everything they need but nothing fulfilling. If they traverse down one of the many lanes less crowded, they'll find more than they ever wanted. They run the risk of getting lost, but one never knows the way until they try." Timoras stopped and turned towards Nergal. "I know that you might not be with us permanently."

Nergal hung his head, unsure of why he felt like he let Timoras down. "Jaffry told you?"

"I'm a spy, Nergal. I don't need Jaffry to tell me." Timoras took a seat on a bench by the road, and Nergal followed, dreading and anticipating the talk he knew he was about to receive. "Nergal, most people aren't invited to this place like you were. Most people find Arcadia; they seek it out. They want to come here. People like you Nergal might not be able to handle what this place is. A haven. A clean spot on the tarnished surface of the world where conflict doesn't exist and all of God's creatures can live in harmony. But we have to struggle to keep this place what it is, and that is why I'm going to encourage you to leave if you can't deal with it."

"What?" This affirmative, almost commanding tone of Timoras' was one that caught Nergal by surprise.

"If you don't want us, we don't want you. No one will tell you any plainer than that, and don't you dare let Jaffry or Emese or any of them try to convince you into staying if you don't want to. You're special, Nergal, but whatever affinity of magic you have can turn into our enemy if we let it. I've already seen too many comrades felled by Church magic to—"

"Church magic?"

"Yes. In the few years, the Church sanctified the uses of light and anima magic, because they represent pure, holy things, such as divinity and nature. Elder magic is still prohibited but—"

Nergal could not keep a sentence straight. "Magic? But…for years…and…it's evil! They preach on its horrors, and now, it's suddenly good?"

Timoras nodded. "Theologians had been pushing it for a decade. It's probably a tactical move prompted by the leaders of the Etruscan territories, who want to use it to fend off us dragons."

No, impossible: Nergal simply could not believe it. All these years of learning magic meant evil, the doctrine changed to not only condoning but training those in magic. All this and already their soldiers were killing dragons! That only seemed to confirm the potent powers magic yielded.

"Don't give that look," Timoras said, referring to the prominent frown pressed on Nergal's face. "It's not all bad. We got one renegade bishop from the Church, and for a while, he worked wonders, healing people in Arcadia and even myself a few times, and for a while, I was pretty averse to magic."

"Wait…he used magic to _heal_ you?"

"Yes. Wounds, by magical means, close up with ease, barely a scar and no infection. Burns, cuts, broken bones: everything sealed right up with no tonics or anything. Just an old staff. And with diseases, a spoonful of his potion and the fever would go down. Not a cure all; we still had deaths but—"

"What happened to him?" Nergal asked, enthralled by the idea. It sounded chimerical, if anything, a bit of fiction or myth, not really pertaining to real life. What if it really worked? What if—

"Old age happened. He was old to begin with, and the journey to Arcadia was difficult. After about two years, his mind and body started wearing away. Afa has us look after him. Emese brings him meals everyday."

Magic…to heal. Something so wonderful matched with something so terrible. Unless… the Church sanctioned it. The Church would never…unless…of course! Nergal trusted the Church; they knew so much more about God's graces than he did.

If he lied to himself and tried his hardest to believe that lie, then maybe it would become true.

----

Author's Note: So, we arrive at Arcadia, and a new phase of Nergal's life begins. Some of you may have picked out some discrepancies between this Arcadia and the Arcadia we know through Athos, but I simply ask for patience on that part. All will be explained. Thank you to all of my reviewers. I love you all very muchly. Thanks to JSB for betaing!


	8. The Change

"_The world seems not the same,_

_Though I know, nothing has changed_

_It's all my state of mind_

_I leave it all behind."_

_-from Pale by Within Temptation_

**Chapter Eight: The Change**

Nergal returned that night more confused than he had ever been in his entire life. Inside, he was facing an epic conflict between what he thought he wanted and what he wanted to think. The mighty clash of ideals, morals, preconceptions, opportunity, and potentiality ravaged him, and a restless feeling overtook his body.

The building was quiet. Nergal skipped up the steps to his room, and upon entering, he happened to glance at the clock. Eight o'five, it read. He forgot something…but what?

Deciding not to have to deal with another worry, he forgot about whatever he forgot in the first place and set to work at trying to sort things out in his mind. He fell against the bed, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath that made his body wiggle.

The Church sanctified the use of magic. God inspired the Church, chose those who ran it. How could they be led astray? Then again, it was just as Timoras said: it was all a tactical move. Nothing spiritual about it. But magic could be used to help people, and helping people was good. Healing people was good.

Magic was evil. Magic would corrupt him.

And what about dragons? Could Nergal really believe that dragons—the same creatures that killed his kinfolk, that incited such fear, that destroyed so much— would actually want to live side by side with humans? All it would take was one catalyst to set them off, and Nergal was good as dead.

He almost felt guilty thinking this. Emese was so sweet, and Jaffry accepted him so easily. Timoras…Timoras, for all his gibes, seemed sincere. Timoras wanted only for the good of Arcadia. Nergal saw many dragons today, and none of them—not one—so much as looked at him funny. Most ignored him. Most did not care.

A thump banged on his door twice, and Emese pushed her way into room, a tray busying her hands. She smiled at him.

"Thought I heard you come in. You missed dinner while you were out with Timoras, so I thought I'd bring you some." Dinner! That was it! He forgot about dinner at six o'clock. Truth was, he had not been out with Timoras all that time. They departed when Timoras had to meet someone and all for the best too, as things became very awkward after Timoras spoke with him. Nergal spent the rest of the day wandering around the city and trying his best not to get lost.

Shaking her lavender locks over her shoulder, Emese set the tray down on his bedside table and leaned over his bed. "You look distressed."

"It's nothing."

Emese rolled her eyes. "Did Timoras say something stupid and hurt your feelings? Because, I swear, I told him to try to be nice for once."

Nergal pushed himself up with one hand. "No, he was very cordial."

Emese appeared unconvinced, her arms folded across her chest. "So what's wrong then?"

"I'm homesick." The lie came out as fluid as water.

"Oh. Well, if there's anything I can get you—"

"No thank you. But, if you'd stay, I want to ask you something."

Emese smiled. "Of course."

"When you study magic, what do you use it for?"

The question was the last thing Emese expected, and her smile fell in her surprise. "Um, different magic is good for different things. Jaffry is proficient in anima, which is very nature based and he's studying cultivation techniques to help to feed, uh, the growing population. Elder magic has fewer practical uses. It's more of a universe study that I'm pursuing at the moment. I'm trying to pinpoint these things called fluxes— you'll learn about them—, how they function, and how to put them to use."

"What about healing?"

"Healing?"

"What if I wanted to learn healing magic? Would Afa teach me?"

"Afa will teach you anything you want to learn, but you have to find your proficiency first. Healing is very much associated with light magic, and we have very few tomes on that. Anyone can learn it though, but it takes more time for some than for others."

"Timoras told me a Bishop from the Church fled here some time ago. Do you think I could meet him?"

Emese's eyes went wide, but this time, it was a pleasant shock. "Of course. He's a bit out of it, mind you. Crabby too, but I'm sure he would love some visitors. I'll bring you over there one of these days."

"Thank you."

Nergal looked at the tray she had brought him: a bowl of stew and a piece of rock-hard brown bread. No matter how much he tried to summon some hunger, he had no desire to eat and merely watched the vegetables bob at the top of the broth. Emese sat down next to him, fidgeting slightly. She wanted to say something; the way she clenched her hands in her lap, and the way she bit her lip told Nergal that much. Something she wanted to get out of her.

"Nergal, when you look at me, what do you see?"

The tray rattled in Nergal's grip. "I see a woman."

Emese quirked a smile, but it disappeared in a second. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Nergal could not speak. A hundred excuses came into his mind, a hundred answers occupied his thoughts, and a thousands blurs swept it all away. It almost hurt how much he had to sort out; it pained him down to the very bottom of his soul. Damn, he did not want to have to decide. Life had been so much easier when people told him how to think, and he just wanted someone to tell him what to do so he would not have to decide by himself.

The indecisiveness was so unlike him, and yet he yearned to be free of the responsibility of thought. His frustration racked him like no sickness had; it made him want to writhe and tear at his hair.

And yet he just sat there, suffering the emotions as still as he could until he finally voiced it in a fleeting whisper. "I'm so confused."

"Nergal?"

"What am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to do?"

Emese approached him delicately, a hand on his shoulder, a sympathetic voice. "Whatever you think is right?"

"But I have no idea what's right? What's good, what's bad? The light, the dark, the good, the evil, there's nothing but gray shadows here." It filled the air with a sharpness and loudness he had not anticipated, but it felt good.

Emese sighed. "What is good? Love, tolerance, acceptance; those are good. What is evil? Passage 8:14 of your Holy Book states 'Nothing on this world is evil unless we make it so'."

The flames settled to a bare licking at his soul. Nergal swallowed; he knew that passage but it never came to him in his deliberations. Croaking, he managed to ask, "Even magic?"

Emese smiled, "especially magic."

----

The conversation with Emese had almost settled it. Though a deep perturbation remained in him, Nergal had almost entirely decided, but he sought one more thing before he made it final. He knew Jaffry's sentiments and Emese's and even Timoras'. While Afa no doubt would provide with endless wisdom, Nergal wanted to talk to Phillip.

The next morning, he slipped out early and made his way to the stables while the sun lingered low in the sky. He made his way to the stables, the creatures beckoning him with snorts and stomps.

The stables had a musky smell to them and were shaded from the warming desert. Dark and cool, they housed only animals. Neither Phillip nor Denning was here, but Nergal could wait. He passed from stall to stall, looking in at the creatures. The horses had a lithe build, lighter than the plow horses used where Nergal came from. A golden tone covered most of their buckskin hides, but one had a chestnut sheen and the other glistened with an onyx coat.

At the very end, in the wider box stalls, Nergal saw the wyverns. They were every bit as he remembered them. The first he peeked in on slept, curled against the straw-lined ground. With every breath, his stomach rose, and the light danced off his scales. The other one was very much awake. Nergal saw it staring at him through the small opening, his black eyes unflinching as he snorted. The creature raised its nose and poked it out over the door, and hot puffs of foul-smelling breath hit Nergal.

With a small pang of alarm, Nergal realized the wyvern could break out of the wooden barrier very easily. He stepped back as the wyvern extended his neck out of the stall towards him, sniffing him.

"Asla, heel!" Phillip sounded more like he was commanding a dog than a wyvern. The wyvern's eyes flitted to the side focusing on Phillip. "Back!" Phillip wielded a whip and stretched it between his hands as a warning. "I said back!" The wyvern retracted its head with a loud grunt. "Well, then, this is a surprise. What are you here for?"

"I wanted to see you, actually." Nergal realized as the words left his lips that he sounded very odd.

"Really? Well, you could have done that without inciting the world's nastiest creature. Damn, I hate Asla. I told Afa that when we got her, that she had a bad streak in her, but the old man just had to have her." He spun around. "Denning, once you're finished feeding them, take Marlo out around the ring." He turned back to Nergal. "Listen, say what you have to say, I'm too busy for idle talk."

"Is there a better time?"

"Not really." Phillip brushed past him and opened a closet at the end. "God damnit, I swear, if that bastard Glen hasn't gotten our horseshoes, there's going to be hell to pay. Jasmine can't go much longer without it." He swore again and kicked the closet closed.

"Can I help then? I know a bit about horses."

"Don't you have things you need to be doing?"

"Not yet."

"Fine. Grab the brushes—they're right there with the tack—and follow me outside." Nergal looked to where the saddles hung, and below them was a bucket filled with tools and a brush. He grabbed the bucket and followed Phillip, who led one of the buckskinned horses, out of the stable.

The sun dulled in Phillip's ash brown hair, which went down to his shoulders in a tight ponytail. Broad shoulders flexed as he handled the sweet-tempered mare, and his intense eyes were so dark they appeared black.

"Give me that." Phillip snatched the brush away and began to sweep the flank with wide strokes. "So what do you want?"

"Your advice actually."

"That's what's so important? Really, I don't have time for this. Go find Jaffry or Timoras or –"

"Uncle!" A half-scream, half-squeal erupted from the other side of the barn. Phillip cursed and left the horse, rushing to the source. Nergal knew it was Denning, and he took off after Phillip, skidding in the sand as he rounded the stable corner.

Denning, sprawled on the ground, sucked a sore finger while staring at his knee with weepy brown eyes, an upturned saddle next to him.

"Clumsy brat! Goodness, Denning, can't you do anything?" Nergal heard Phillip say. "Didn't even skin the knee. Get up and back to work. You can't be crying over every little trip." He turned to Nergal, his expression darkening. "What are you gawking at? You left the horse alone out there?"

At this moment, Nergal remembered the untied horse they abandoned at the sound of Denning's cry. He turned back and ran to where he left the creature; the horse had barely moved a couple feet and gave him a bored stare.

"You're lucky she ain't a bolter."

Phillip's direct rudeness began to wear at Nergal. He said with a small snap, "You're not very nice to Denning, are you?"

Phillip gave a disdainful snort. "I think you'll find I'm not very nice to anyone. At least, that's what I've been told. Besides, I didn't ask for the kid. He's my sister's kid. Her dying wish was that I take him in, and you know, you can't go around denying dying wishes. They're a special sort they are. God forbid you refuse someone's dying wish." His sardonic words made Nergal flinch. Before this, he had met nasty sorts of people but none quite like Phillip.

"At least your sister had time to give you a dying wish," Nergal said, feeling very defensive all of a sudden. He did not like Phillip at all.

"Oh really? Is that supposed to be a bad thing? I didn't like my sister. My sister didn't like me. To this day, I believe it was the fever that made her choose me as his guardian. His idiot of a father had already gotten himself killed by dragons. Must've inherited his smarts from that side of the family."

Nergal's face flushed, and it was not the heat of the sun causing it. Frustration bubbled and mingled with an ire struggling to remain under control. He felt his fists clench.

"How can you say that? About your own family none the less."

"What happened to you, Nergal? What happened to you that supposedly so horrible? There had to be something. I can see it in you; you have a look of mourning about you and sorrow and doom."

Nergal swallowed. Never in his life had he wanted to punch a man so badly. "My sister died too! She was murdered in fact. She didn't have a kid, because she was only eight you know. Didn't do anything either. Mother dearest couldn't pay the debts so they took their payment in blood. Saw it all too." He bit his lip, shut his eyes, and tried to force back the water flooding his eyes. He did not want to cry; he did not want to show weakness in front of this insufferable man.

"Horrible things happen in this world, Nergal." Phillip's voice never wavered or changed tone; the coldness resounded in every syllable. His dark eyes pierced Nergal without a hint of sympathy. "Why the hell do you think I chose to come here? Arcadia is an oasis, and the only struggles we face here are to keep it that way."

Nergal stepped back, back again and again, until he realized he was retreating from Phillip. "I have to go." And he fled. Not walking, not running: his stride was a combination of both, designed to keep both his dignity and distance.

His feet took him to Afa's stoop, and he entered the house, the cool, untouched air was a relief against his face. Quiet and lonely, the hall stretched before him, and the open library door invited him in.

Nergal walked past it, expecting to see someone inside, but it was as empty as the hall. Books: his escape from the world. Perhaps they would console him and give him advice.

Bookshelves covered three of the walls; the fourth dedicated to a wide window that threw light against a circular table with chairs fixed around it. A collection of tomes had gathered on the table, some cracked open and others stacked. Paper with scribbled notes littered the tabletop and slipped off onto the floor, at the feet of one chair pulled out from under the table.

Nergal traveled the length of the shelves, acquainting himself with its volumes. Beautiful bindings and printed letters greeted him with a sweeping pleasant sense. He found books on geography, history, astronomy, anatomy, geometry, algebra, and…and…

One book, its black spine stuck out an inch from the others, caught his attention._Furster's Guide to Elementary Particular Fluxions. _Nergal could not place its subject; he had never heard of Fluxions before, though the term sounded slightly familiar. Something he had never heard of, something new to be discovered: it excited him. Eagerly, he took it off the shelf and opened it in his hands.

Flipping through the first pages, he studied the introduction. Terms beyond him and abstract ideas flooded his mind. What in the world did it mean by animistic properties? How in the world did constellations relate to the control of solid matter?

"Nergal." Nergal stiffened at the voice, his fingers freezing against the book. "Find anything interesting?" He knew at once that the crumbled voice was Afa's. He turned and nodded, a bit shy. Afa stood with a crooked smile and his white beard knotted down the front of him. "Well, let's have a look at it."

Finding his mouth dry and sticky, Nergal approached Afa with the cover displayed. Afa blinked and smiled.

"Ah, good ol' Furster. Knew the man myself, I did, I did. Met in a bar actually. I remember quite well; he was sprawled on the floor, too drunk to speak! Or was that Menningham? My memory betrays me. But I do remember that no one knew his elder magic quite like Furster did. If there were two things he knew about, it was elder magic and good tea. Treated me once to a drink from his collection of fine spiced teas; that was a treat. I remember—" Nergal listened dumbly as Afa babbled, his story incongruous. He stopped and blinked as if trying to figure out where he was. "You want to see a quick bit of magic?"

Nergal paled. "Not right now, Sir."

"Nah, this will be quick. Stand a little further from me."

Nergal backed away. "Please, I rather—"

"Just stand there. Good, good. Now, see Furster's book? Watch carefully." Afa tossed the book in the air; the pages fluttered, and then Afa muttered a quick, intelligible word, and it burst into flames.

Nergal gasped as Afa caught the book with a bare hand and extinguished the flame with puff of air. He shook the book in front of Nergal and grinned at the pages, free from scorch marks.

"See? Fire doesn't have to be harmful. Easy trick that was."

Nergal went to examine the book. "That was actually pretty amazing, sir."

"I do hope you'll be staying with us, Nergal."

Nergal gulped, and suddenly, he could not face the man. He remembered his decision after talking to Emese. It was then he knew he wanted to stay, despite all his uncertainties, and it was now, when the thought of leaving and returning to the farmhouse, he realized how much he dreaded that place, how he never wanted to return—not without Stella, not ever.

He lifted his gaze. "Sir, I do hope I am welcome to stay."

-----

Author's Note: Not much to say except if I got something wrong about caring for horses, you'll have to forgive me. I know next to nothing about them and had to wikipedia some things. Reviews are loved, as always. Tell me what you liked and what you didn't like. Thanks to JSB for betaing.


	9. Four Years Later

"_Men acquire a particular quality by constantly acting a particular way... you become just by performing just actions, temperate by performing temperate actions, brave by performing brave actions.__"_

_-Aristotle_

**Chapter Nine: Four Years Later**

If Nergal had time to ponder the last four years, he would be swept up in the mere exhaustion of the memory. His frustrating studies, his long nights out with the others, the hours spent in the libraries with a stiff back and sleepy eyes, the running about Arcadia on Afa's errands, the dust storms that had them all cooped-up inside for various stretches of time. All of this settled into an almost tedious routine, but Nergal enjoyed his time in Arcadia, and it had not taken him long to adjust enough to call the place home.

He, himself, had changed, maturing and growing up under the careful gaze of Afa and the horrible influences of Timoras and Jaffry.

Emese put it clearly enough, packing a loaf of bread as she expressed her annoyance. "You used to be so much nicer, Nergal." Nergal smirked. As he understood, he was still the "nice" one in the group, but even he enjoyed teasing Emese. She slid her backpack over her shoulder. "What is it about men and magic that makes them so cocky?"

"What makes you think this is about magic?" Nergal said, holding the kitchen open for her with a mock bow. "On the contrary, this is about you and that lovely boy Nole."

As Emese walked out the door, she shoved Nergal. "I'm older than you! You're not allowed to tease me about these things!"

"Exactly my point! I never knew you liked younger men." Nole was a human, and at twenty two, he was only two years older than Nergal.

Emese's face was positively red. "It's bad enough Timoras is calling me a cradle-robber. Goodness, men marry women half their age all the time."

"But rarely do they marry someone an eighth their age." He laughed, taking Emese's bag off her back. "Let me make it up for you. I'll help with Kishuna." Now taller than Emese, Nergal could only watch as she tried snatching the bag from his lanky arms. Kishuna the Bishop had wasted away for the last several years, and ever since he first arrived, Nergal wanted to glean his secrets of healing magic.

"No. The man hates you, he always has, and he puts up a fit when you come. Seriously, Nergal when are you going to just give up and realize the old coot isn't going to teach you anything! You're better off learning yourself."

"Light magic is a very involved magic, and healing requires a staff, a staff we don't have in our possession and that the 'old coot' does."

"He's never going to give it up! You've asked time and time again, and he refuses! He hates you!"

"He hates everyone! He even hates you, to a lesser degree."

Emese desperately tugged at his arm, trying to grab the bag, which Nergal dangled higher over her head. "Well, when you're at that age— give it!—you can be picky about who you hate and who you don't hate."

"It's not pickiness. It's misanthropy and not very becoming for a Bishop. I'm going whether you like it or not." He dropped the bag into her open arms, and she quickly opened it to make sure the food inside had not been squashed. "I'll be right behind you."

Turning on her heel, Emese stalked out into the bright Arcadian desert with Nergal at her heels. She cut through the town, silent so Nergal would know she was still angry with him. They came down the lane to Kishuna's home, the bottom half of an adobe building.

Nergal waited under the eaves while Emese knocked twice before letting herself into the house with a gentle call. "Father Kishuna? Are you in there?" Not even the customary hacking cough came back to them. Emese tiptoed in. Her nose crinkled at the smell of old age and decrepitude. His house was dark, so she lit a few lamps, handing one to Nergal and taking one with her deeper inside.

A few strained breathes hissed from the darkness. Nergal's light bounced off the books that stood in stacks around Kishuna's home. Kishuna himself had pilfered them from the troves in the Etruscan libraries, but he hoarded them and refused to let anyone—even Afa— to take a glance.

"Father Kish— Oh my—Nergal get over here." He broke from his wistful thinking and turned to see Emese bent over the ground. Kishuna lay sprawled over the floor, his limbs splayed out at crooked angles and his eyes barely creaked open. His mouth opened, slack and wide, hesitating exhalations fleeing him in whistling air. In the shadows of their lamps, his leathered head appeared more shrunken, shadows growing under his cataract-blue eyes and in the wispy stands that still clung to his head.

"He must have fallen," Emese said, holding her lamp for Nergal to take. "I need to get him up."

Nergal pushed her hand back. "No, let me." He set the light down and slipped his arms under Kishuna's arms, feeling the sharp shoulder blades poke out his palms.

"No!" Kishuna hissed. "Let me die in peace."

Nergal lifted the frail body despite his protests; Kishuna gasped. "We're not going to let you die," he said, in a soothing voice. "Just relax."

"I…want to die."

Nergal halted, losing himself for a minute. The words echoed around him. He turned to look at Emese, who sitting very still. Gently, Nergal lay him back down. He set his legs straight and crossed his arms.

"What do you mean you want to die?" he asked, very softly. "Why would you say that?"

"I…hate life. Damn life to hell. I dedicated my life…to God. Let me collect my reward."

"Don't think that way." Nergal took Kishuna's hand in his own, squeezing it and feeling every bone. The skin felt cold. "God wants you to live."

"I am…nothing! Nothing but a vessel of my own damn emotions. I can't walk; I can't feed myself. What…what is there in this life? Filled with nothing but my own regret, my own incapacity, my own guilt. Let me die."

Nergal said no more, sitting back with his hand still wrapped around Kishuna's. He counted his snarling breathes until, lost in his own mind, he pondered the words that resounded so strongly around him.

_"Let me die." _

_"I want to die."_

_"I am nothing but a vessel of my own damn emotions." _

_"I don't want to die."_

The last voice came in the form of a sweet little girl.

Nergal snapped out of his thoughts quickly, unaware that his grip over Kishuna had tightened. He turned his head, taking in a deep breath. For four years, he had never once choked up over Stella. Never once had he mourned her. He was over her death.

But…never once had he been at the side of a dying person while wanting to do so much and yet failing so hideously. Perhaps there had been another time, when the Grim's son took ill; Nergal felt that familiar flicker of distress wash over him, even though he had not quite recognized it then.

_"Save me, Nergal." _

There was nothing he could do. Not then, not now, not ever. It drove him mad. Death all around him, and yet he could do nothing to stop it or halt it. The dead were gone for good, and once they began their descent into hell, there was nothing to pull them back.

"He's gone," Emese said, quietly. He thought he heard her sniff. He felt the still stiff bones in his hand; Nergal dropped his hold on Kishuna and wrapped Emese in a hug.

She sniffed, and he felt tears against his neck, but nothing more. She pulled away, stood, and picked up her bag. "We better tell someone. Arrange the funeral." As they walked out, Nergal saw Kishuna's healing staff propped against the wall, its blue gem dulled by years of no use. Emese caught him looking at it. She picked it up, weighing it in her hand, eyes sweeping its length, before handing it to Nergal. "Take it. No one will know."

0o0o0o0o0o0

"So the old man finally kicked the bucket," Jaffry said, leaning back with his hands folded behind his head. They were sitting against the outer east wall of their home, where there was a bench and some good shade.

"Not exactly the mourning type, are you Jaffry?" Nergal said.

"Not for some man who hated my guts. You're too sensitive to death. Really, it happens all the time. We get used to it."

"You won't die for another thousand years. On the other hand, I've got my mortality to worry about," Nergal said, joking.

Jaffry shrugged. "You're right in a way, though these days nothing is certain. Well, I guess we'll all be forced to go to the funeral. Timoras, that lucky bastard, will miss it."

Timoras was up in the Illian Mountains, distributing dragon stones to some of the dragons up there. It had become his latest job. Isolated from the rest of the world, Nergal heard few stories about the state of affairs in Elibe, and every last one of them pointed towards a war. With the huge population of humans and the slow breeding of dragons, Timoras and Afa decided it would be best to give dragons the choice of transformation.

Of course, last time Timoras returned, his nose was broken thanks to a gaggle of dragons who loathed the idea of becoming a human. Jaffry and Nergal had bets going on what he would look like upon this return, and though Phillip had not put any money in on it, he said his peace: Timoras simply wouldn't come back but rather some humans would stumble upon his pulp of a body in the middle of nowhere.

Later, they retreated inside, and after they washed the dust from their fingernails and sweat from their face, they withdrew into the library. Jaffry took a seat and leaned back, the chair balancing on two legs while Nergal retrieved a light tome he had been previously studying.

"So you really stole his staff?"

"Don't say it like it's a bad thing. He's dead; it's best we put it to use."

"Hey, I would've done the same thing. I can't wait for you to put all this studying to use. I mean, you've been researching healing for the last three years; you can finally put that knowledge to use."

The muffled toll of bells found its way into the library, mellow and morose. Perhaps the single Church, a tiny structure in the center of the town, was ringing the death knoll for Kishuna.

And then, the door to the building opened. Jaffry stood casually, and Nergal shut the book, but before either of them could meander out of the library, they heard a thud and a scream.

"Emese!"

"Damn."

A second later, they all hovered over the crumpled body of Timoras, blood spilling from various cuts around the body. The sleeves torn from his shirt, his arms swelled with spots of blue and black. They turned him over onto his back, and he feebly smiled at them through squinting eyes.

Their jokes earlier on his condition now seemed morbid, and Nergal felt a pit grow in his stomach. Emese had turned away, her hands covering her mouth. Jaffry called for Afa, and Timoras threw his body in a shrug that left him cringing.

"I'm…fine."

"You've always been a terrible liar." Jaffry counted the incisions, from his brow to the clotted one running down his leg. "Why should we believe you now?"

"Not two in one day," Nergal heard Emese whisper to herself. "Please, not two in one day." He knew what she meant; Kishuna's passing this morning would only be eclipsed by Timoras' brutal murder.

"Jaffry, go grab the gauze and herbs from the kitchen. And a towel—get a towel too! Emese, run up and get the staff from my room."

"Nergal, do you even know how to use that thing? You only-"

Nergal cut Emese off. "Get it! I've been studying it for the last three years, and it's damn well our only hope." She fled as Jaffry returned, his arms filled with an assortment of bottles and wrappings. He cut a length of gauze with his teeth and laid it aside.

Nergal selected one of the bottles. "Salve of Healing" the label read in poor script. Nergal popped the cork out. Folding the towel, he dabbed some of the salve on it and went for the gravest wound, a gaping hole in his chest. Timoras' back convulsed as the liquid touched him, searing his skin.

Nergal tore the shirt off it. He was surprised at how easily his once brittle garb fell into threads in his hands. Now, he could see the rash developing across his torso, the multiple bruises inflicted upon his body.

His face went pallid and sweaty. Emese returned, proffering the staff in her outstretched arm. Nergal grabbed it and sent a prayer above that he could remember all he studied.

Summoning within him the very power he possessed, he focused his power in the jewel crowning the staff, his other palm hovering flat above the body. His eyes shut. The power surged through him, but the brilliant winking he expected never came.

"Nergal, give it up and—"

No. It had to work. None of his medical knowledge knew how to deal with injuries of this scope. He had to use the staff. He had to. He let more energy into the staff, waiting for something.

"Nergal…"

He imagined the skin around the wound closing up, the blood ceasing its flow, the skin returning to its normal tanned tone. He imagined the pain siphoning away from Timoras' body. He pictured his organs sewing themselves up, the veins closing.

"It's working," Emese let out in a relieved breath. Nergal peeked one eye open to see a dull glow emit from the head but quickly returned to his concentration. His hands curled around the staff so tightly his fingers went numb, and his back felt weary from the curve of his position.

Jaffry put a hand over Nergal's arm. "He's good. Now let's bandage up the rest of him."

"You need to practice, Nerge," Timoras gasped, "I still feel like hell."

"At least your stomach's patched up," Nergal retorted, his weariness countered by a soaring sense of accomplishment. He had very well saved Timoras' life. He had finally—finally!—prevented a death. The solemnity of Kishuna's passing disappeared, and Nergal was almost giddy in his excitement, though his eyes felt weary and body ached with the exhaustion of his deed.

"If you say so." Timoras' head rolled back.

"Does it hurt when you breathe?" Nergal was wrapping his leg wound. He could do no more with the staff; he had no energy, but the more minor wounds could be dealt with properly as was.

"That's putting it mildly."

"Well, we should be very grateful Nergal could do what he did on his first try," Emese said.

"Why couldn't he steal the damn staff sooner then?"

"How do you know I stole it?"

"How else would you get it from that stingy old man?"

Emese cut in, wiping the matted blood from his forehead. "It probably hurts more if you talk, Timoras, so maybe you should just be quiet and let us dress your wounds." The blood blended in with his red hair, but a close inspection revealed much of it had crusted around his roots.

"How long have you gone like this?" Jaffry put a hand to his forehead to check his temperature and drew away, relieved.

"I'm not…too good with the teleporting stone. I'm not too good at magic…like you. Took too much energy."

"What happened to not talking?" Emese snapped.

"Where is Afa?" Nergal rose to his feet.

"Probably out after all," Jaffry said. "Let's get him upstairs." Jaffry took Timoras in his arms, and they all trooped to Jaffry's room, where they layed Timoras on Jaffy's bed. Timoras's body relaxed against the straw mattress, and the three crowded around his bed, Nergal at the foot, Emese by Timoras' side, and Jaffry pacing around the frame.

"Now get some rest and—" Emese never finished her sentence as both Jaffry and Nergal jumped at him.

"What happened!" Jaffry wanted to know.

"Who did this to you?"

"I did a really stupid thing. Went into a den of dragons in my dragon form, and I showed them the transformation. Second I turned into a human, they leapt at me. Barely escaped that one. Then, I figured I ought… to fly back to Arcadia, but then I got trailed by some dragon hunters, and they tried felling me. So I had to transform again, and that…didn't do so well for the ol' injuries. So I had to use the teleport stone, and you know I'm not too good with those."

Emese traced a jagged cut on his cheek. "Sounds awful."

"Actually, that one I got way before the others. A lovely little lady dragon all alone in a pretty high peak wasn't too pleased to have visitors. But she took a stone at least; that's more than most."

Silence filled the room. Timoras' swollen eyes shut, and soon, he was gone in sleep, leaving the rest in thought. Jaffry had stopped pacing to lean against his window frame, hands stuffed in his jackets, his red eyes glowing with unreadable thoughts.

Nergal realized he was still gripping his staff. Timoras had landed in all sorts of trouble before, but never had he returned so severely wounded. Dragons liked him in his dragon form; humans loved him in his human form, but now, both struck against him. For four years, Nergal was blessed to be away from all the trouble, all the strife, but he felt it coming closer, creeping over the sands. They would not be able to avoid it for long.

He felt isolated, sequestered in these walls and fences, unable to do anything about the charging bull that was headed for them all. He wanted to do something desperately, something that would change all of this.

"I want to go north," he said, not realizing he let the thought free into the air.

He felt Jaffry's eyes snap to him. "What?"

"Arcadia is a haven, a great place, but staying here will do nothing to ameliorate the conditions elsewhere! I want to go north, to the Ilian Mountains, to where this—" he pointed at Timoras "—happened. I want to help people to realize dragons and humans do not need to be enemies."

"It's not going to happen, no matter what you do," Jaffry said.

"What about those that did accept stones? There are some. I'll help them assimilate into human society. I'll teach them how to blend in so when they have to transform, they're not caught immediately."

"You're…an idiot," Timoras mumbled from the bed.

"You're supposed to be asleep," Nergal snapped.

"You're supposed to be smart," Timoras said.

Emese stood. "I agree with Nergal. We're supposed to be protecting Arcadia and its ideals, but we can't beat the whole world! There are so many who think like we do, but they have no idea of Arcadia's existence. We can help bring them here!" Her lavender strands fell across her face as she spoke.

Jaffry remained silent for a moment. "You have a point, but it could be dangerous. Revealing the location to too many people will expose us to those who want us destroyed."  
"I know. We'll be careful then. But what we are learning is no good if we don't put it to use. We'll poke around, like Timoras does, teach some anima here and there, do good. If Nergal's going north, I'll go east."

"And I'll stay here," Jaffry said, and his low tone revealed he was still not pleased about the idea but bitterly resigned to it. "Not all of Afa's pupils can just leave, and someone needs to stay and watch over Arcadia."

"You're all idiots then," Timoras said, and none of them disagreed.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Nergal had his trunk packed, and he gripped the staff tightly so he would not lose it. A week had gone by, and Afa had been warned. Being Afa, he heartily agreed with their plan, sending them out with his best wishes. He and his pupils had stayed up for long stretches in the night to discuss what exactly to do, what to say, where to go.

Nergal and Emese decided to leave on the same day, and since Timoras was up and walking, he came to see them off. Both knew their teleportation spells well enough not to require a stone, but still both doubted their own capabilities.

"Now Nergal, you're going to be going to Galace." Timoras pointed a map of the mountains as the sands blew around them. "Up here on the mountain above it lives the lady dragon that gave me this scar." He tapped his cheek. "The locals call her the Ice Dragon, and they think she's some wonder, but she's not the social type so I wouldn't go on any long hikes, if you know what I mean."

Nergal smiled. "I understand. I should be pretty busy. It's an isolated village, and I'll be acting as the only doctor. I'm hoping to deflect any sentiments against the dragons and perhaps introduce a few into their society. You said the Ishkor tribe was eager about the dragon stones right?"

"Yeah. Just stay away from the Ice Dragon. Good luck."

"I'll be back in a couple of weeks to check in and maybe restock."

They exchanged handshakes, and Nergal said his goodbyes to Jaffry and Afa, waiting to have the last word with Phillip, who was talking with Emese.

"Nole said goodbye to me, isn't that sweet?"

"I hate that boy," Phillip in his dark tone. "Nothing but trouble."

"Can't you at least put on a smile for me? You're not going to see me for a very long time."

"Don't die. Please. I don't think I can find another playmate for Denning."

Emese beamed, knowing it was better than one could hope from Phillip. She turned and gave a lopsided smile to Nergal, her face trembling with her anxiety. "Ready?"

"Ready?"

A last chorus of farewells rose from their friends, and in seconds, the blue light swallowed Nergal and his belongings, spinning him about and throwing him down in a bank of snow, a shroud of icy air encompassing him.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Author's Note: Not too proud of this chapter, but it will be made up by the awesomeness of next chapter. I've already started on next chapter. Three new important characters, a new culture, and a deeper exploration of the Scouring. Reviews are loved dearly as are my readers.


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